


on the road to where we are

by xoxoHoran



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Jeronica, Jughead x Veronica, Legal Guardianship, New York City, Vughead, What if?, absolute cannon divergence, i'm not even sorry, riverdale meets "life as we know it"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25203328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxoHoran/pseuds/xoxoHoran
Summary: Veronica Lodge and Jughead Jones are what one might call"friendly acquaintances"or"friend adjacent"but they certainly wouldn't classify themselves as close, by any standards.However, when tasked with raising Juliette Andrews, the person their best friends' loved the most, they might find that they're a little more similar than they ever wanted to imagine.[riverdale x "life as we know it"]
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 35
Kudos: 120





	1. i think i might have lost me

**Author's Note:**

> perhaps you saw this story and thought, _"what happened to 'the best that you can do'?"_  
>  the honest answer is that I was feeling uninspired, didn't have anything else to write, had somewhat found myself in just a dark corner, unable to decide what happened next.  
> this is my chance to try to remedy that, to try to fix what I got wrong the first time (however, I do have the old chapters on stand-by just in case)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I thought, what was my story missing that I really liked about 'Life As We Know It,' what was really missing to build on - the answer, my lovely readers, was a backstory. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the backstory I've offered these characters.

It’s Betty who suggests she call Jughead, rambling on about how time has flown, feeling more nostalgic than usual during their weekly chat.

“Jughead’s living in New York, too, Veronica,” Betty mentions, her voice dripping with an excess amount of sugar, reminding her of the blonde she met eight years ago, Betty’s _sweet girl-next-door_ persona firmly in place. “It might be nice to see him, to know someone in the city.”

The suggestion seems innocent enough and, though she knows Betty means well, she can honestly say that it isn’t a good idea, something that runs through her mind on a loop, as if she’s somehow forgotten.

“I don’t know, Betty-” She’s hesitant, not wanting to hurt her best friend, not wanting to crush whatever dreams Betty has already begun creating for the two of them. “Wouldn’t it be weird, for me and Jughead to-”

She’s unable to complete the sentence, not even sure what she would have said, interrupted by the light sound of Betty’s laughter, soft and gentle (and so _very_ Betty).

“V, I’m not saying you and Jug should get married,” Betty sounds amused, as if she knows how much awkwardness she’s created for her friend and is reveling in her own power. “And besides, it would only be weird if _you_ made it weird – it’s not like I’m still in love with him or anything.”

Betty sounds breezy and happy as she says the comment, her tone light-hearted as if she hadn’t called Veronica for nights on end, lamenting the end of her relationship with Jughead, the end of something she had never though _would_ end, as if Veronica didn’t spend countless nights their freshman year listening to Betty wonder about what had happened to the dark-haired writer, questioning what he had done after graduation.

“He and Archie are still friends and, honestly, I think it would be good for you to hang out with someone for a little while, to break free from your apartment for a few hours.”

Veronica finds herself nodding, even though Betty can’t see her, looking around at the unpacked boxes cluttering her apartment, the things she decided were important enough to take with her as she moved across the country, desperate to escape her father’s control and her Stanford sweetheart, Nick St. Clair.

It’s a bad idea, her mind is practically screaming that she needs to make up some sort of excuse, something iron-clad that will take precedence over any sort of potential meeting with Jughead, something that will make Betty stop worrying about her.

“We weren’t even really friends in high school” is the best she can come up with, the excuse falling from her lips before she has the chance to filter it, the chance to reconsider that statement. It’s truthful – they only really spent time with one another because of their connections with Archie and Betty, were only in one another’s orbits by _association_ – and a little bitter, memories of moments when she tried to be nice to Jughead, moments when he blamed her for her father’s crimes running through her mind, flashing like some sort of home video.

“You guys were _friendly_ ,” Betty argues, though she’s lacking the same amount of assurance that has supported her other claims, as if she already knows this one is a further stretch than she wants it to be. “And, besides, _everyone_ has changed since we were back in Riverdale, V. Maybe this is your chance to really get to _know_ Jughead.”

She doesn’t love the idea, doesn’t think it’s a great one at all, but she agrees because she wants to make Betty happy, wants to show the blonde (and herself) that she isn’t afraid of anything, that she’s not the same girl who cowered behind her family name like she had the last time she was walking the streets of New York City.

She’s _changed_ : she’s not the same girl she was in high school, clinging to Archie’s popularity and the Rivervixens, attempting to grapple with her father’s wrongdoings.

Veronica Lodge left New York immediately after graduation, headed for the sunny beaches of California, but is back in the city to remind everyone that _she_ can handle herself, that there’s more to her than just her family name and wealth, that she isn’t the same person that left Riverdale six years ago.

Admittedly, she doesn’t think this meet-up with Jughead is going to go well, can already picture the multiple ways it _won’t_ , but at least she’ll have the chance to show _him_ , someone who has always remained skeptical of her, someone who never truly accepted her fully, that she’s different now, that she’s broken free from the Lodge name and made something of herself (on her own).

Her job as a fashion editor at _GQ_ is time-consuming and taxing in all of the best ways, which is how she justifies waiting three weeks to call Jughead using the number Betty had easily rattled off during their earlier conversation.

Jughead sounds surprised to hear her voice, sounds as if Archie hadn’t told him she might be calling (she’s pretty sure he did), and agrees to meet her at the restaurant she suggests in the Upper West Side, the one she hasn’t been back to since she first left New York City at the prime age of 16.

The restaurant, the one she fondly associates with times when her family was picturesque, times when she hadn’t known about her father’s illicit activities or the unhappiness that lined her mother’s eyes, is a little more formal than she remembered, a little more _Gossip Girl_ than she had intended. Sitting at the table, nursing a glass of cabernet as she waits for Jughead, scanning the menu _again_ , resisting the urge to check her phone, to check the time _again_ , she wonders if this is how Jughead greets all of his _dates_ , twenty minutes late without any sort of message excusing his absence, wonders if he’s changed his mind about the two of them meeting up (as friends or as something more – she didn’t really specify labels on the phone).

“I’m surprised you called, Veronica,” Jughead mutters as he makes his way toward her table, the top few buttons of his blue shirt unbuttoned, his hair looking perfectly messy. He looks more attractive than she remembers, more assured than he had in high school, as if somehow he’s found his stride in the city, as if he needed to get away from Riverdale and his pre-destined place as the Serpent Prince to really find his place in the world – he’s underdressed, _of_ _course_ he’s underdressed, but she doesn’t seem to really notice when he offers her his signature smirk, taking the seat across from her.

“Right, well I guess I figured we could burry our mutual distaste for one another, especially since-” She doesn’t finish her sentence, cringing slightly, though both clearly understand the words that have gone unsaid, Archie and Betty’s reunion looming over them (in her head, she can hear Jughead’s voice mumbling something about _inevitability_ and how _it was only a matter of time_ ). “I just moved back to the city and figured, who better to show me around than Jughead Jones the third.”

She offers him what she hopes looks like a genuine smile, a peace offering, a promise not to bring up their best friends, the intricate way they are connected, the past they share. He nods slightly in acknowledgment, picking up the menu in front of him as a silence falls over the table – her mind races with potential topics of conversation, desperate to find something to say, a way to ease the suffocating tension that has fallen over them.

“Betty said you published a novel,” she all but blurts out, her thoughts completely unfiltered as she begins berating herself, internally questioning her own sanity as Jughead’s eyes quickly meet hers, curiosity swirling in the bright blue depths she’s never looked directly into.

“Yeah, I’ve actually written two.” His response is hesitant and short, as if he’s waiting for her to say something else, perhaps waiting for the unsolicited book review he’s accustomed to or some sort of criticism (she feels like an idiot for mentioning a book she hasn’t read, for blatantly suggesting she only cares about him when _Betty_ mentions him). “Arch mentioned you were working for _GQ_.”

He mentions her ex-boyfriend as casually as she mentioned his own ex, as if the relationship was nothing short of a slight slip in Betty and Archie’s great love story, as if the mention of how she was likely just a place-holder for the blonde doesn’t sting her (if anyone knows the feeling, it’s _him_ , she decides).

The statement confirms the fact that Archie likely goaded him into agreeing to the outing, that there were discussions about it that she will never know about, never have the chance to hear, and she feels a little bit of relief at the fact that this likely isn’t something he would have chosen to do on his own, that this _date_ is forced on his end, as well, likely meant to placate Archie’s ( _Betty’s_ ) concerns.

“Oh, yeah, I’m actually a fashion editor.” She’s torn between showcasing how proud she is, emphasizing how important the job is, how hard she worked to get to the place she’s in, and hiding behind the title, waving it away as if she had always known it was _hers_.

There’s a brief moment where she thinks he might suggest she elaborate on the statement, might ask what it means to be a _fashion editor_ and how she fell into the position, but his attention turns back to the leather-bound menu is his hands, eyes scanning it meticulously, as if it’s more interesting than just a piece of paper with a list of basic entrees at high prices.

She waits a few more moments, allowing him the chance to offer some sort of ( _any_ ) input before clearing her throat, Jughead’s gaze meeting her own lazily, as if asking for his unsolicited attention is too much to require of him, as if he would rather be reading the menu, studying it as if there’s an upcoming exam, rather than _reconnecting_ (she cringes as she thinks of the word) with her.

He looks expectant, as if she should state her case quickly before his attention returns back to the menu, and it is at that moment that she decides Betty and Archie have clearly gotten the _wrong idea_ , that there is no way she can stand another awkward second of being ignored.

“This was… _fun_ , but I actually have to-”

Before she finishes whatever lie she was about to rattle off, Jughead is placing the menu back on the table, a smirk tugging at the corner of lips as he nods, a gesture of understanding, something akin to victory shining in his blue eyes (she hates him _a little bit_ in that moment, hates the way he looks like he’s been proven right, as if this _meal_ was all just some sort of ruse to him).

“Lodge, it’s totally fine, rather _anticipated_ – it’s clear that this is all for Archie and Betty’s sake and, now that it’s happened, at least we can report back that we’ve completed their little social experiment and it isn’t going to work.” He says it as if there are no other conclusions to be drawn, sliding his chair from under the table as he offers her a wave before leaving the restaurant, leaving her looking like the _pathetic_ girl who got abruptly dumped by her _too cool to follow a dress code_ boyfriend.

Later, after she’s indulged in a savory meal of truffle mac and cheese, has had a few glasses of the best pinot in the city, and decides that she’s tired of seeing everyone’s pitying glances, she makes her way back into the New York City cold, quickly dialing Betty’s number as she goes, leaving the blonde multiple long-winded voicemails about how _horrific_ the evening went and how _extremely demented_ she must be to have thought Veronica and Jughead could be anything more than barely-acquaintances.

She ignores Betty’s apologetic text messages, sends all of her calls to voicemail (which she also deletes), and forcefully ignores all of the blonde’s long-winded emails until Betty announces that she and Archie are moving to the city in one of the subject lines, the words written in all caps.

Veronica skims the email quickly before calling her best friend, gushing over all of the places they’ll have to explore in the city, chatting as if she hadn’t been mad about the date from _literal_ hell (she does, however, make Betty promise that she won’t try any more set-ups and she notices that the blonde carefully never mentions Jughead when she’s in the room, both of which she’s grateful for).

* * *

Archie and Betty get married (because _of course,_ they’re the kind of couple that can make it work, the kind that she’s always envied a little more than she likes to admit) in a ceremony that seems as if it was pulled straight out of a storybook, the venue covered in twinkle lights and pink peonies.

In his vows, Archie mentions how he missed it at the beginning, how he didn’t realize how much he loved Betty until she was with someone else, how he only really _saw_ her when they were together in Boston, away from the prying eyes of their hometown and the endless gossip loop (and, okay, his vows _sting_ because he’s basically calling her a distraction, but she hides any sort of reaction, instead smiling for her best friend as she stands as the maid-of-honor, pretending the entire ordeal doesn’t feel like a blow to the heart).

Betty mentions inevitability and soulmates in her vows, shedding a few tears as she tells Archie that, even when she was helplessly trying to get over him, to discover who she was _without him_ , he was still firmly planted in her heart (which, though she doesn’t look in his direction, she knows _must_ hurt Jughead a little).

She realizes, as they’re all standing together, the four of them huddled together in a majority of the pictures, that she doesn’t _want_ Archie anymore (thank god), but rather, she wants someone to look at _her_ the way he looks at Betty, to smile at her as if she’s the only thing he can see.

Instead of a romance that rivals the one her best friend has, she has _Jughead_ , who is looking a little _too_ dapper in the Hugo Boss suit she selected for the groomsmen, wearing a genuine smile that she’s honestly never seen, his eyes sparkling with something she thinks might _actually_ be happiness (it’s weird, considering how broody he was in high school, but she doesn’t question it, doesn’t want to associate with him, even though it’s been two years since their non-date).

“You gave a nice speech, Lodge,” he offers as he makes his way toward her (or, more specifically, toward the bar, where she has practically made herself at home, her shoes dangling from one hand as a champagne flute hangs from the other). “A little too emotional, maybe, but nice, nonetheless.”

She shrugs off his comment easily, remembering that his own speech had been tinted with his usual self-deprecating humor, though laced with memories of the three of them together, of how he had always thought this would be how things would turn out (guests who knew him in high school, who remember how _in love_ he and Betty were, resist the urge to cringe at the words, though he says them without any trace of bitterness, says them as if he’s just stating a fact).

Admittedly, it was a _nice_ speech, one that made people laugh more than her own did, one that made Archie’s eyes look a little misty as he and Betty shared some sort of secret conversation no one else was privy to – he was a _writer_ , after all, so she had assumed he would have done something _decent_ , especially since he had recently published a third novel.

“Well, Jughead, at least my speech didn’t leave some people feeling awkward, as if they should apologize to you,” Veronica snaps, turning her head quickly in his direction, desperate to see his reaction, to watch as he cringes as her words sink in, mean-girl façade slipping easily in place as if she never outgrew it. “At least people seemed to like my speech.”

She’s insulted and a little drunk, and the snort Jughead tries to conceal at her comment does nothing but anger her further, as if he can’t believe she has the _audacity_ to insult what he probably thought was a work of genius, as if her speech can’t even compare to the one he gave.

“Oh yes, I found the ten-minute-long spiel about how _girl code_ and _dibs_ works very endearing,” he mutters and, if she were thinking properly, if she hadn’t had a few too many flutes of champagne, she would see that he’s clearly baiting her, waiting for her to react.

Before she has the chance to even consider a retort, to think of the perfect sentence that will sting him as much as his comments seem to hurt her, the brunette Jughead brought along as his date (Victoria? Vivian?) appears at his side, dragging him toward the dance floor, batting her eyelashes quickly as if it’s going to make him hate the activity any less (she knows the other woman’s tactics aren’t working, can tell how much Jughead hates it as he stiffly sways to the music).

Taking another sip from her flute, biting back a smile at the awkwardness Jughead practically radiates from the dance floor, she attempts to think of something besides how alone she feels in this moment, how _pathetic_ she must look at the bar while _everyone_ (even Jughead) dances to the music, enjoying the happy atmosphere of the wedding.

She tries not to think about how she seems to be the only one alone, how everyone seems to be in love (or at least have _someone_ ) besides her but, as her eyes drift back toward Jughead and the brunette, she can’t help but lament on her own sadness, turning toward the bartender to order something stronger.

* * *

Walking back into Pop’s, the bell ringing as she steps onto the linoleum tile, Veronica can’t help but feel as if she’s stepped into some sort of time vortex, as if she’s suddenly back in high school, spending almost every evening sandwiched in the booth with her friends, trying to ignore Jughead’s ramblings about the latest disgrace to the _American Dream_ , sipping strawberry milkshakes and just _being young_.

Archie and Betty are already on one side of their old booth, heads bent together as they whisper back and forth, love practically radiating off of the two of them, as if they’re in their own little bubble, as if they’re exactly the same people they were in high school, though also completely different (she doesn’t even _know_ what she’s thinking as the thought crosses her mind, nostalgia crashing over her in waves).

“Well, I guess that rules out divorce,” Jughead’s voice rumbles from behind her, the dark-haired boy studying their friends as if he’s searching for the reason they might have been summoned back to Riverdale, trying to piece together the latest mystery that’s been presented to him (likely documenting every moment in his mind, waiting for the chance to pull out his laptop and begin transcribing each detail).

His voice startles her (she hadn’t been aware that he was already there, let alone _behind_ her), though she doesn’t jump like she might have in high school, more than used to the way he seems to linger around, to go undetected until he decides he wants to be seen.

“Oh please, as if you _actually_ thought America’s Golden Couple was going to get a divorce,” Veronica rolls her eyes, as if the slight gesture emphasizes her point, as if she hadn’t silently considered it a possibility when Betty insisted that meeting at Pop’s was _mandatory_ and _extremely important_.

Instead of responding, Jughead shrugs and steps in front of her, headed toward their friends, more than ready to pop whatever bubble they’ve enclosed themselves in, sliding into the empty side of the booth as if he’s done it more than a million times, as if he’s used to whatever routine Betty and Archie are trying to remind them of (she reminds herself that he _did_ spend a majority of his time at Pop’s, that he’s probably more comfortable here than at the house with Alice and FP)(she doesn’t even want to _touch_ that topic with a six-foot pole, her mind still reeling from when Betty mentioned the seemingly unholy union a couple of years ago).

She tentatively follows behind him, sitting down in the booth slowly, as if sudden movements are going to cause some sort of scene, as if she’s trying to be more discreet (she doesn’t even know _why_ she would be wanting that, but she does it anyway), leaving a reasonable amount of space between she and Jughead without practically falling off of the red bench seat.

“Hey guys, not that I don’t love taking a walk down memory lane, but what the hell are we doing back at Pop’s?”

Jughead’s statement is blunt and to the point, his blue eyes swirling with curiosity and confusion, as if he’s looking at a puzzle he can’t solve, as if someone has told him that the world was flat, after all. Sparing a quick glance in his direction, she wonders if he misses the old gray beanie he used to wear, wonders if he realizes that it’s absence is really the only thing that differentiates this scene from one they used to share nearly a decade ago.

Archie and Betty both squirm a little, mouths opening and closing as they attempt to string together the right words, all the while making her feel more anxious about the meeting: sure, they weren’t getting divorced, but maybe one of them was terminally ill or they were moving away from the city or-

“We’re having a baby.” Betty’s eyes widen as soon as the words leave her lips, as if she can’t believe she said them in such a straightforward manner, without any warning or preamble, without the speech she probably practiced a dozen times in the mirror.

She looks between Archie and Betty, as if waiting for one of them to elaborate, before Jughead’s hesitant, “Congratulations,” fills the air, easing some of the tension that has fallen over the four of them, though it leaves something else behind.

“I can’t believe you guys are-” She doesn’t finish the statement, doesn’t know how she wants it to end, whether she wants to suggest she can’t believe they’re _actually_ having a baby or that they’re _actually_ going to be parents or-

“We called you both here because we were hoping you would be our baby’s godparents,” Archie says, a look of pure happiness reflected on his face as he looks hopefully in their direction, as if he’s anticipating hesitation from the two of them, as if he understands he’s asking for something bigger than he should be, but wants them to agree anyways.

“Jug, Veronica, there really isn’t a world we can imagine where we raise this baby without the two of you,” Betty adds after a moment, noting the moment of silence, the shocked expressions on both of their faces, the way neither has found the right words to say.

“Betty, of course,” Veronica smiles after a minute, trying to envision herself playing with Archie and Betty’s _child_ , sitting through fake tea parties with a short blonde girl who has bigger dreams than she knows what to do with, taking a small boy with Archie’s brown eyes to the park, to see the animals at the zoo.

Admittedly, she’s not a _kid person_ , hasn’t really spent enough time with them to even decide how she feels about them, but she knows she’s going to like this one, knows that she’s going to find room in her heart to love her best friend’s child.

“Arch,” Jughead’s voice is soft, a sort of tenderness she’s never really heard from him, acceptance clear in his tone as he looks across the booth at their friends, disbelief and excitement written across his face.

The smile that stretches across her face is genuine when she orders them all a round of milkshakes, when she insists that the baby is going to be spoiled by their _Aunt Veronica_ , that she and Betty need to start getting things ready _as soon as possible_.

A part of her brain can’t comprehend the fact that there’s going to be a baby around in less than six months, that Archie and Betty have actually _made a person_ , someone who they’re going to be responsible for, to take care of for the rest of their lives – she can’t believe that they’re old enough to be parents, let alone that this is something they _wanted_.

The other part of her brain, the smaller part of her brain, reminds her of old high school fantasies, of dreams where she and Archie would have their own children, would live _happily ever after_ as if it was ever in the cards for them.

In between the laughter, the nostalgia, and a few rounds of burgers, she finds herself wondering if Jughead thinks these kinds of things, too, but doesn’t ask. Instead, she orders another milkshake and starts discussing nursery themes with Betty.

* * *

Juliette Cecilia Andrews is born at 4:26 in the morning on May 1: Veronica has been trying not to fall asleep in the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room, doing everything from pacing the tiled floors to splashing copious amounts of water on her face, desperate to hold the baby as soon as possible, desperate to hold the baby as soon as possible, to show Betty and Archie how _responsible_ she’s become, how they haven’t made a mistake by asking her to be a part of their daughter’s life.

Jughead comes running into the waiting room around 4:20, leather messenger bag thrown over his shoulder, hair a complete mess, still clad in his plaid pajama pants, as if he hadn’t thought about what would be _socially appropriate_ , as if he hadn’t cared about what anyone might think of him, desperate to get to Juliette, to meet the baby they’ve both already grown to love.

“Is she here yet? Did I miss it?” He’s heaving slightly, a reminder that Jughead was never the most _athletic_ guy, never the most into physical fitness.

“No, you haven’t missed it yet Torombolo.” She tries to sound condescending, tries to guilt him into feeling bad that he hasn’t been waiting alongside her since she got Archie’s message a couple of hours ago, the red-head swearing the baby would be coming “any minute now,” but instead her voice sounds soft, perhaps a little endearing (she tells herself it’s exhaustion, that her brain isn’t functioning right due to the complete lack of sleep she’s suffering from). “Where have you been?”

He practically falls into the chair beside her, pretending as if the hard plastic isn’t as uncomfortable as she thinks it is, acting as if it’s some sort of _relief_ to be sitting beside her (usually, he makes it seem like it’s a chore, offering an overdramatic sigh before he takes his assigned place), before he mutters, lowly, “There was a problem that required a little more help with the Serpents.”

His voice is low, like it’s some sort of secret shame, the affiliation with the gang he’s been a member of since their teenage years, the group of people who treated him as one of their own when his familial life was in shambles, decidedly not meeting her gaze as he makes his confession.

She doesn’t respond to the statement, doesn’t know what the appropriate response would even be, her mind racing with the fact that she thought he had given up being a member of his father’s gang, she thought he had let that part of his identity stay in the past (though, notably, she doesn’t judge him – she knows how hard it is to leave behind family members, to finally see them in an unflattering light).

Her own parents, Hiram and Hermione, are serving their own sentences – Hiram’s court-decided sentence at Florence High, the nation’s most surveillanced prison, where nothing goes completely undetected, and though Hermione isn’t locked behind any sort of iron bars, isn’t being constantly watched like Hiram, she is still living in Riverdale, listening to the harsh whispers of the unforgiving population, trying to make the right choices in the faces of people who are expecting her to make a mistake (Veronica thinks her mother’s fate is a little worse, thinks she wouldn’t be able to be doing the things her mother is, with the same grace that the older woman exudes).

Silence stretches between them, comfortable and easy, until Archie rushes through the doors of the maternity ward, brightly announcing that Juliette has arrived, earning multiple glares from people who had been trying to sleep, people who don’t care about what he’s saying.

Veronica rushes toward him, arms open wide as she offers him one of her best hugs, the weight and _reality_ of the situation slowly sinking in, her mind repeating the fact that her best friends are _parents_ on loop, a wave of disbelief and self-depreciation sweeping over her as Archie releases her and offers Jughead a warm embrace.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, the confirmation that, though she’s reached success in her professional life, she’s always going to be _behind_ in her personal affairs, never measuring up to her friends. Archie is speaking quickly, arms flailing as he nods and heads back towards Betty’s room, but she doesn’t hear a word he says, doesn’t process the fact that he’s probably given her some sort of instructions, probably expects her to head back to meet the baby (that is why she’s been in the hospital for these last couple hours, after all).

Instead of following Archie, instead of simply nudging her and bringing her back to reality, Jughead hesitantly pulls her into his warm embrace, the slight weight of his arms helping bring her back to reality, his soft sighs reminding her that she’s not the only one who can’t measure up to the Golden Couple, that someone else understands the rollercoaster of emotions she seems to be on.

“One day,” he mutters lowly, resting his head on top of hers as she allows herself to revel in his warmth, in the stability he’s providing her.

They break apart after a few long moments, after Jughead mutters something about how Archie will likely come looking for them again, and he leads them toward Betty’s room, where the perfect family has been brought together in what she can only describe as a _Hallmark_ moment.

Betty is watching the baby with glassy eyes, looking down at the pink bundle as if she might be hallucinating, as if the baby could disappear at any moment, as if this is something she always wanted and never thought she could have. Archie, who is planted firmly beside his wife on the bed, the two of them squished together, is watching the two of them with a fondness she’s grown accustomed to seeing on his face, eyes sparkling with adoration as he holds his daughter’s hand, as he whispers all of the things he wants for her to experience, all of the hopes he already has for the newborn.

Jughead has the sense to knock before they enter the room, to warn the family that they are going to be interrupting this moment, to allow Archie a second to insist they come back later, that this is time for _family_ , and Betty brightly announces that they should enter, her eyes never leaving the baby.

“Guys, meet your goddaughter, Juliette Cecilia Andrews.” Archie’s voice is booming with pride and, when she looks in Jughead’s direction, she can see that even _he’s_ getting a little emotional about the moment.

“She’s beautiful,” Veronica whispers, smiling at the baby, trying not to cry at the fact that they’ve given their baby _her_ middle name, that they’ve honored her by naming their favorite person after her (she knows that Juliette is a tribute to Jughead, knows that it was the only name Betty and Archie could agree on, but doesn’t dwell too much on the fact now that she can actually see the baby).

Jughead nods, seeming at a loss for words, as if this sentence is the most important one he will ever compose, as if what he says about Juliette carries more weight than any of the other sentences he’s strung along. “She’s perfect,” he whispers after a moment, meeting Betty’s gaze instantly, the blonde offering him a slight smile, one of genuine thanks, of understanding.

Looking at Archie, Betty, and Juliette once more, observing the obvious adoration that colors their features, the gentleness in their movements, the natural way her best friends regard the baby, she can’t help but think that the baby is luckier than she knows, that she already has something that she (Veronica) has never had.

* * *

“Betty, I’m sure that everything is going to go perfectly,” Veronica mutters as she follows her best friend through Betty and Archie’s renovated Brooklyn brownstone, a role of tape in one hand and a package of uninflated balloons in the other.

Honestly, looking around the living room, attempting not to cringe at the excessive amount of pink and _glitter_ scattered around the room, Veronica finds it hard to believe that Juliette is _actually_ one, that it’s been a year since she held the blonde baby for the first time, big brown eyes blinking in her direction, filled with unspoken questions, a curiosity she instantly recognized as something she shared with her father.

“I know V, I guess I’m just a little-” Betty sniffles a little, her voice lost at the end of the statement, trying to hold in the wave of emotions she’s been feeling all day, the sadness she feels at the fact that her baby is actually turning one.

Betty’s emotional rollercoaster is something she’s become familiar with, something she’s seen more times than she can even count since Juliette’s birth: Betty had cried for half an hour the first night she spent away from the baby, tearfully calling Archie and Jughead every ten minutes, desperate for a status update, had been an emotional wreck during Juliette’s first Christmas, insisting everything be _traditional_ and _perfect_ (honestly, Veronica thought she was looking at a young Alice Cooper, something Jughead laughed at when she whispered the accusation to him), had changed her mind about the theme of this party more times than Veronica would even like to think about, with Kevin taking over planning after she decided (for a fifth time) that the party shouldn’t have a theme.

“Juliette is one lucky girl,” Veronica smiles, looking around at the gifts that are piled high on the kitchen counter, the cake that’s perfectly iced near the sink, the living room that has transformed into what she can only describe as Archie’s worst nightmare, noticing Archie and Betty’s unconditional love, the great lengths they’re willing to go for their daughter’s happiness (even though she’s hardly a year old and is happy _literally_ all of the time).

It startles her, a little, to think about how much she’s grown to care about her best friends’ baby, what lengths _she_ would go to in order to ensure the little girl’s happiness – considering she was awake and out of the Upper East Side by 9 o’clock the morning to prepare for the party, dragging large bags of decorations and presents behind her as she took _the subway_ , she knows the little girl has her wrapped effortlessly around her little finger.

The party, though theme-less, goes flawlessly, with children racing around the small backyard as adults sip wine and socialize (read: allow themselves to let loose _completely_ , trusting in the numerous nannies to handle their children). It’s a little reminiscent of her own childhood, of the way she had been raised – her parents always seemed to be on the sidelines, watching her carefully as the nanny tended to her wounds, to her care, while they socialized and rubbed elbows with people they deemed socially acceptable (the thought makes her want to throw up a little – she quietly excuses herself, desperate to get away for a few moments).

She knows that the life Juliette has is nothing like the one she had – Juliette has loving parents who couldn’t be more hands-on if they tried, she has a support system, a web of people who are always willing to prioritize her, and the sort of family dynamic that young Veronica always dreamed of – but the party brings back bad feelings, a slight reminder of her past and an even bigger suggestion of what her life _could have_ been like, had her parents been more active in her life, had they cared more about her than their careers.

Her mother, though arguably too many years too late, has apologized on numerous occasions, has tried to explain her motives and the situations she was forced into, has told her that there is nothing she loves more than her daughter, but Veronica has always had a hard time forgiving the older woman, a hard time accepting the endless apologies. She knows Hermione is trying, knows she’s being honest and genuine, there’s just something about-

“They’re uh… cutting the cake,” Jughead’s voice draws her out of her angst-ridden thoughts and, judging by the look on his face, she thinks he’s probably just as uncomfortable in the party setting, watching families interact that bare minimal resemblance to their own familial unit.

He’s leaning against the doorframe of the nursery, wearing the same blue shirt he had worn to their _non-_ date, looking hesitant and understanding, his blue eyes scanning their goddaughter’s nursery, likely reflecting on all of the time and effort it took to make the room come together (she knows Jughead and Archie assembled all of the furniture with Fred, knows that the three of them spearheaded the whole remodel of the brownstone which had taken _months_ ).

For a second, she wonders if she should just ask him the questions she’s thinking about, curious as to what might happen if she allowed herself to be vulnerable with Jughead – would they bond over their less-than-traditional pasts or would he brush her comments aside with a sense of sarcasm and a shrug?

Instead, with a looming sense of the unknown hanging over her head, she asks, “Do you know what flavor it is?”

The look he offers her is flat and incredulous, as if she’s somehow insulted his intelligence by suggesting he _didn’t_ , by undermining his love for cake and (generally) all food.

“Vanilla, the one with the sprinkles in the batter.” _Funfetti_ , she mentally corrects him, her inner voice sounding a little pretentious and all-knowing. “I saw like five kids eyeing it, so if you’re going to be a while longer…” He looks pained, like he knows he should wait for her, should offer her some sort of comfort, but is still thinking about the food that is waiting for him, the high levels of sugar just _dying_ to be ingested.

“No, I’m- let’s go,” she offers him a slight smile before breezing past him on her way to the kitchen, mentally preparing herself for the screaming of sugar-filled kids, of the chaos she’s sure is happening on the lower level, descending the stairs at a slower pace.

The cake, which is _funfetti with orange frosting_ according to Alice, who corrects Jughead no less than five times _,_ is a major success with the kids and adults, alike. They take pictures – pictures of Betty and Archie with Juliette, offering the baby her first slice of cake, pictures with the four of them crowded around the baby’s highchair, all cooing over the small girl, and even a couple of she and Jughead with Juliette (Betty insists they’re _necessary_ for Juliette’s scrapbooks and promises they look _“perfect V, I can send you a few copies if you want!”_ ).

“I’d like to propose a toast!” Archie declares after all of the guests have left, after Juliette has gone to bed and they’ve shuttled Alice into a taxi for the evening, the four of them sitting on the living room floor, bags filled with trash laying around them as they take a break from their clean-up duties.

Betty hands them each flutes of champagne, smiling brightly, as if she had known this was going to happen, had prepared for such an occasion (Veronica wonders if this is when they’re going to announce that they’re having _another_ baby, if that’s even possible given the fact that… she stops herself from thinking about it, instead deciding to just listen to whatever Archie is going to say).

“It’s been one _hell_ of a year and, honestly, Betts and I couldn’t have made it through without both of your help,” Archie says after a moment, after he’s sure that he has everyone’s full attention, his eyes watering slightly at the sentiment.

Veronica smiles and raises her glass, Jughead following suit, and, for once, she notices that there is no argument, no corrections being made, no further discussion (if she weren’t so tired, she _might_ think this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship for the two of them).

* * *

Betty calls her, sounding frantic and panicked, beginning the conversation with a rushed, "What are you doing tonight?" that sounds a little more accusatory than she thinks her friend might have meant it to.

"A little online shopping, a little _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ , maybe learning to cook something for Cheryl's brunch next month, why?" Veronica asks curiously, making her way down the busy New York City street, various shopping bags hanging from her arms as she makes her way toward her Upper East Side apartment, ignoring the stares of people as she walks by with her expensive clothes and her clear over-indulgence in designer apparel. "Is something wrong, Betty?"

"The babysitter cancelled this morning and Archie has-" Betty doesn't need to finish her sentence, Veronica is _more_ than aware of Archie's big music concert (technically, the school Archie teaches for is having the concert and _he_ isn't the one performing, but she tells herself those are all technicalities): somehow Archie has managed to mention the concert in every conversation for the last two months, practically glowing with pride at the success of his summer program, bragging about his students' growth and the potential he sees in each one.

"-the concert," Veronica answers automatically, cringing slightly as she thinks about his rambles, about how defeated he would be if Betty weren't in the audience to support him. "How can I help, B?"

She asks as if she doesn't already know what the blonde is going to say, as if she hasn't already predicted the fact that the blonde is going to ask _her_ to babysit (something she's never done _alone_ ), as if her apartment isn't filled with a million different hazards that a baby could potentially choke on.

"Listen, V, we already called Jug, but he has an important book event tonight and, honestly, if you say no, we're going to have to ask Kevin or Cheryl, both of whom..." It's clear the blonde doesn't want to voice what they're both saying, doesn't want to offend their friends (even though there's no way they'd ever know she said it), doesn't even want to admit that she doesn't think they're the best around _children_.

"Okay, what time will you be dropping Juliette off?" Anxiety is bubbling in her, her mind yelling that this is a bad idea, while she mentally makes a list of all the things she's going to have to put away before the baby comes to her apartment.

They drop her off at five with armfuls of baby stuff: a travel crib, some sort of playmat that Archie assembles in her living room, a diaper bag brimming with diapers and multiple changes of clothes, blankets, a backpack filled with baby toys and books, a carrier, and even a collapsable high-chair. Veronica can't contain the giggles that escape, the two of them dressed to the nines, hulling in multiple armfuls of plastic and cloth (honestly, she doesn't even want to _know_ how they managed to get everything into a cab).

"I didn't realize Juliette would be moving in permanently," Veronica jokes, taking the baby from Betty's arms, making a slight face at the small girl, who smiles back.

"Maybe we should have just had you come to our place," Betty mutters after a minute, seemingly realizing her mistake.

"No, absolutely not! I can't drag _all of this_ back to Brooklyn, it's just not going to happen." Archie insists, shaking his head dramatically. "You're just going to have to live with Aunt Ronnie forever, Jules. Maybe you can visit us for the holidays."

Juliette giggles, clearly unaware of what her parents are saying, waving slightly when they finally leave, though not making a big deal out of it like Veronica had worried would happen.

Their evening together goes better than Veronica had thought it would - Juliette is actually a pretty calm baby and eats the mashed apples like a champion, only getting a little on the grungy old t-shirt she had thrown on, and doesn't seem to care about anything else as long as Dora the Explorer is lighting up the screen of her large television (she, personally, learns she's not a Dora fan, learns that Dora has a hideous haircut and doesn't leave any time for responses when she asks questions - what a _bitch_ ). By eight o'clock, Juliette has been bathed and is in her pajamas, sitting on Veronica's lap as she reads the small girl a little bit of _Pride and Prejudice_ , using various voices to keep the small girl entertained (Veronica had looked at the other books, ruling that they were all kind of terrible, and decided that it was never too early to be exposed to good literature).

She falls asleep during the first few chapters, though Veronica keeps reading, more for her own sake than for Juliette's, the small girl sleeping in her arms, drooling slightly on the tank top she had thrown on hastily after Juliette completely doused her previous outfit.

It's ten o'clock when Veronica finally stops her reading, laying Juliette carefully down in the travel crib and laying a soft blue blanket over the small girl (it doesn't escape her that the blanket was a gift from Jughead, who had said something about _security_ and _comfort_ when Betty opened it).

Eleven o'clock comes and goes quickly, with Veronica watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ on low-volume in the living room, an eye on the baby monitor as she constantly checks her phone, waiting for some sort of update from Betty and Archie, waiting for some sort of confirmation that traffic had been bad but they were still on their way.

By 11:30, Veronica begins calling them, Betty and then Archie, listening as the phone rings six times before sending her to voicemail (Archie does it _all_ the time, always having his phone on silent, always losing it at inopportune times, but Betty _always_ answers by the third ring).

At midnight, she calls Jughead, telling herself that his event is likely over and _maybe_ he's heard something from Betty and Archie, maybe they decided to pick their daughter up in the morning or-

"Veronica?" His voice is soft and scratchy, sounding as if he can’t believe she’s calling, as if he thinks he might still be dreaming. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re the kind of person who calls people at this kind of hour.”

The second part of his statement is slurred together, muttered as if he’s on the verge of falling back asleep, so instead of retorting to his statement, she decides to bluntly ask her questions.

“Have you heard from Archie and Betty lately? Like, have they called you recently?” There’s a slight twinge of hysteria in her tone, something she wants to blame on exhaustion, though she knows is fear, desperately hoping that there’s been some sort of miscommunication.

“No, not since they asked me to babysit this morning,” Jughead replies, though it’s clear that he’s waking up a little, trying to think about if he’s heard from them since. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“It’s - no, probably not, but Betty thought they were going to be back from that concert at eleven and, well, they haven’t answered their phones and-” She’s panicking, on the verge of hyperventilating, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

“Veronica, take a deep breath,” Jughead’s voice is calm and soothing, though she can hear rustling in the background, likely him getting out of bed to turn on the lights, “I’ll call around some places and will be at your apartment soon.”

Part of her wants to insist that he doesn’t come, that she’s over-reacting and everything is going to be fine, but she doesn’t.

“Thanks Jug,” she breathes evenly, taking a deep breath, mentally allowing herself to think this is perhaps the only time living in close proximity to Jughead has done her any sort of good. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

She hangs up the phone hesitantly, but when it starts ringing a few seconds later, realizes that Jughead likely came to a conclusion similar to her own, deciding that it would be more comforting to stay on the line, to remind one another that they’re still _supporting_ one another, no matter the circumstances.

“Jug, you called back, great,” she offers a sigh of relief, looking over at the sleeping baby, her hand shaking slightly, "because I was actually about to call you-"

“Actually, Miss. Lodge, this is Detective Weatherbee. I’m afraid there has been an accident.” A deep voice interrupts her, sending her stomach sinking as she drops the phone quickly, unable to process the words the older man has said, unable to think about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Do you absolutely hate me? Do you prefer the old story? (because, if yes, I could try to revive it).
> 
> Let me know below!


	2. somewhere in the city

The ER waiting room is relatively empty and poorly lit, the chairs just as uncomfortable as they’re advertised to be on hospital dramas, the entire place smelling of intense _cleanliness_ , as if someone just sanitizes the space every few minutes.

“Veronica,” Jughead’s breathless and panting, a sight similar to how he had shown up to the hospital a little over a year ago, though the mood is noticeably different. He’s wearing his plaid pajama bottoms, his old gray beanie hanging from one of the pockets as if he needed it to feel a sense of security, as if his old hat could bring him a sense of comfort that he seemed to be lacking.

She stands from her perch in one of the blue plastic chairs, holding Juliette close to her chest as she makes her way hesitantly toward Jughead, watching as recognition and defeat cover his features, a sadness that seems deeper than the angst he wore like a shield in high school.

“They’re gone, Jug,” she whispers, her voice scratchy from all of the sobbing she had done when she heard the news, from all of the silent tears she had shed as she whispered promises to the baby in her arms, promises that things would still be _alright_ , that everything would be _fine_ (she knows it was more for her own sake than Juliette’s, knows that the baby will hardly recognize any sort of change).

Jughead moves swiftly in front of her, wrapping her in a warm embrace before she has the chance to protest, the chance to remind him that Juliette is still sleeping peacefully. He’s taller than her, something she’s always known, though feels specifically in this moment, in the way his body seems to mold around her own, protecting her from the harsh reality that their best friends are gone, from the pain they’re both feeling.

For a moment, they just hold one another, forgetting that there are other people in the world, reveling in the heartache they both feel, in the familiarity of one another.

* * *

They reluctantly decide to spend the night at Archie and Betty’s place in Brooklyn, mumbling about how it’s closer to the hospital, about how Juliette should be in her _home_ , even though her parents won’t be there to greet her in the morning (neither voices the second part, the sadder statement, though Veronica is sure they’re both thinking it).

Archie and Betty’s brownstone is a five-bedroom, four-bathroom piece of real-estate that had been gifted to them as a major fixer-upper from Mary Andrews the second Archie announced he and Betty were having a baby: evidently the older woman had declared that her grandchild couldn’t grow up in the studio Betty and Archie had been living in, and justified her purchase by rationalizing that it was always smart to invest in real-estate.

It’s gorgeous, completely renovated and modern, and, on any other day, Veronica would be more than pleased to be spending the night at her friends’ place rather than in her own (sometimes _lonely_ ) apartment. On any other day, she would happily rush toward the guest room she had deemed as her own, jump on the bed a couple of times, and feel more at home than she did in her own apartment, surrounded by the love of her friends and the comfort of the place she’s made her own.

 _This_ , however, does not bring her the same warm, fuzzy feelings, the feelings of belonging that she had cherished every time she spent time at the Brooklyn brownstone – instead, she feels a sense of dread, an unfamiliar weight settling in her chest as she trudges toward Juliette’s nursery, climbing the stairs slowly as her thoughts swirl violently, desperate for answers to questions she hasn’t asked, presenting her with memories that she’ll never re-live with Betty and Archie, with promises that have been broken thanks to an inebriated driver who lost control behind the steering wheel and hit their cab head-on.

Jughead is following close behind her, his steps heavier than normal, silence stretching between the three of them as she struggles to find something to say, struggles to find something that will make this situation seem less _tragic_ , less horrifying.

“I can watch her tonight,” he says after a moment, looking at the sleeping baby in her arms with a softness that she only sees directed toward Juliette. “You should get some sleep.”

He says it as if he doesn’t already have dark circles under his eyes, as if she doesn’t know that she woke him up with her phone call an hour ago – she wants to refute it, to suggest that they can just keep the baby monitor with them, but the look in Jughead’s eyes says this isn’t _just_ about staying the night with Juliette, that he just wants to make sure Archie’s daughter is safe, to protect her in a way he wasn’t able to protect Archie tonight.

“You could always sleep in-” She tilts her head toward Betty and Archie’s master suite, one of the three bedrooms on the fourth floor of the house, alongside _her_ guest bedroom and Juliette’s nursery.

“No, that not – there’s a couch in Juliette’s nursery and, let’s face it, I’ve slept on worse,” Jughead says, shaking his head slightly, as if the idea of even _considering_ sleeping in Archie and Betty’s bedroom is insane, his nose scrunching slightly at the suggestion.

Veronica nods, not wanting to argue with Jughead, not wanting to make an already _horrible_ night somehow worse, gently handing him the baby and heading for her own lodgings for the evening.

The familiar light gray walls, the gold framed pictures of she and Betty, of the four of them from high school, do nothing to calm her nerves or stop her over-active imagination – all she can think about is the fact that Betty and Archie will never be coming back to the home that they’ve built together, to the life that they loved, to their _daughter_. They had no way of knowing that tonight would be the last time they ever saw Juliette, no idea that they were spending their last few moments listening to elementary students sing (likely) off-key songs that only Archie loves.

Mostly, she can’t stop thinking about Juliette, about what will happen to the baby now that she’s an _orphan_ , about if she’ll ever see the small girl ever again.

It’s three o’clock by the time she stumbles into Juliette’s nursery, accidentally waking Jughead, whose limbs are sprawled all over the couch, and making herself comfortable on Juliette’s plush white rug, the one she and Betty always thought felt like a _cloud_.

“Ver-” He sounds groggy and confused, maybe slightly alarmed, and she feels bad that she’s accidentally woken him up (again) tonight, but instead she just makes a slight _shhh_ sound and lays her head on the pillow she brought from the guest bedroom.

Being close to Juliette, reminding herself that the baby is sleeping soundly only a few feet away, brings her a sort of comforting calm that helps lull her to sleep, a reminder that, while some things are _bad_ right now, there is still a sense of hope.

* * *

She wakes slowly, the sun streaming warmly through the large windows of the nursery, Juliette’s soft babbles and the smell of bacon wafting through the air dragging her away from her dreams (dreams where Archie and Betty aren’t _dead_ , dreams when it’s just the four of them back in high school, not worried about anything but whether or not there might be a pop quiz in their next class). Laying on the floor, rolling so she faces Juliette, the two of them making clear eye contact, she wonders if it would be so terrible to try to go back to sleep, to try to pretend that this situation isn’t happening for a little while longer – it’s only morning but she can already tell that it’s going to be a _long_ day.

Slowly lifting herself of the ground, trying to bite back a groan from how sore she feels, how exhausted she already feels, she offers Juliette a soft, mumbled “good morning” before picking the smiling baby up from her crib, descending the stairs slowly, tip-toeing as if she’s going to get caught, as if there are people watching her, judging her.

“Good morning,” Jughead says, trying to offer her a slight smile as he stands over the stove, still clad in the pajamas he had worn the night before, the plaid fleece that will certainly stand out if he were to go out in public, the dark gray ‘S’ shirt he’s had since high school. “How are you doing this morning?”

His question is laced with hesitation, as if he doesn’t want to push too far, as if he’s trying to tread carefully, though she can see the worry in his eyes, the exhaustion reflected on his features, making him look somehow more troubled than he had back in Riverdale (she wonders if that’s even possible, wonders which situation is _really_ worse, but then stops herself).

“I’m-” No word seems appropriate, seems to adequately describe how she’s feeling – she’s not even sure how she’s feeling, so instead she shrugs and mutters, “fine,” which is the exact opposite of how she’s feeling right now. Right now, she’s a mix of emotions, sadness over the loss of her best friends, self-pity as she thinks about how she’s a little more alone, anger as she thinks about the drunk driver and about the fact that her best friends, two of the best people she knows, suffered because of him, worry about the baby in her arms, but she certainly doesn’t feel _fine_ about anything. 

Silence falls between them as Jughead offers her a plate of pancakes and bacon, sliding a bowl of Cheerios in her direction for Juliette before making his way toward her, sitting with a chair between them, pushing his food around in a way she’s never seen him do.

She can’t help thinking that something must be seriously wrong if Jughead Jones, the guy who is a literal _pit_ , the guy who always complained about being hungry, even after eating _multiple_ burgers at Pop’s, the guy whose appetite never fails to astonish and disgust her, isn’t immediately eating the meal he’s prepared.

Juliette seems to be the only one with any sort of appetite, maybe because she doesn’t understand what’s going on, because she doesn’t know that she just lost her chance to be a part of the most _picture perfect_ family Veronica had ever seen, babbling softly as she happily shoves Cheerios into her mouth, smiling and sucking her fingers as if nothing is wrong.

Brushing a lock of blonde hair away from the baby’s wide brown eyes, trying not to think about how much she resembles her parents, how much of Archie and Betty Veronica can see in the small girl, she can’t help whispering, “What’s going to happen to you, baby girl?” as if it’s some sort of secret, her worries creeping to the surface.

“Uh, actually, Mary Andrews called while you were still asleep – she’s coming by in about an hour to discuss Ar- the will,” Jughead says, unable to say his best friend’s name, looking a little uneasy about the fact that he actually has to discuss the fact that Archie, his best friend and practical brother, has a _will_.

Veronica nods, trying to focus all of her energy and attention to the giggling baby in her arms, not wanting to think about what the meeting will entail, about what will happen once all of the dust seems to settle (she wishes there was no _dust_ at all, wishes nothing was changing).

* * *

‘They what?” Jughead’s voice is louder than she thinks he intended, his eyes stormy as he looks at Mary Andrews, as if daring her to confirm what she had just said, to support her previous statement.

Veronica’s desperately trying to think of memories she shares with Betty, of moments where the blonde might have suggested this _possibility_ , might have hinted at the fact that she wants – (Veronica doesn’t even want to finish the sentence in her head).

“Archie and Betty named you and Veronica legal guardians of Juliette in their will,” Mary says again, her voice even though it’s clear that she’s internally crying, shaken up about the situation and the fact that she actually has to help settle her only child’s affairs. “They want the two of you to raise Juliette _together_.”

She emphasizes the last word in a way that makes Veronica feel a little sick, as if someone is playing some sort of mean trick on them.

“But we aren’t-” Jughead’s distraught, running his hands through his hair, desperately seeking some sort of clarity, clearly not noticing how upset Mary Andrews _already_ is, clearly not understanding that his multiple questions and arguments, his need for her to repeat the fact that her son has passed _multiple times_ isn’t making anything easier on her.

“I know, Jug, and they obviously knew that, too, but it’s what they requested.” Mary sighs, scanning the document she had picked up from Archie and Betty’s _actual_ lawyer (she had decided to take the case on the second she heard about her son and his wife, the second she realized that she couldn’t just stand back and watch everything fall by the wayside). “You can refuse, of course: Juliette could go to a willing family member or-”

“I’m not going to let her go into foster care,” Veronica declares, the first words she’s said since the older woman arrived, a sinking feeling settling into her stomach as she thinks about the blonde little girl she’s grown _so_ fond of being raised by complete strangers, not even knowing about the people who loved her the most.

Beside her, Jughead offers her a slight nod, confirmation that they’re both in agreement about this, that they both understand that _foster care_ won’t be an option (later, she’ll think about the fact that Jughead, himself, spent a small amount of time in the foster care system, that he knows more about the system than anyone else, that he knows how Juliette might feel if she grew up in the same situation he found himself in for a brief amount of time).

Mary smiles, seemingly pleased by her declaration, reminding Veronica about the woman’s affiliation to the case, about the fact that she’s more than just a lawyer, but also Archie’s _mother_.

“Mrs. Andrews-”

“-I really couldn’t take Juliette, Veronica,” Mary’s words are soft, hurt bleeding into them, making her feel guilty for even considering asking the older woman. “I love Archie and Betty, of course I do, and I will _always_ want what’s best for Juliette, but I know that I wouldn’t be able to handle raising another baby and I know they would have wanted her to be raised surrounded by their friends and family.”

She seems apologetic about the confession, about the fact that she’s blatantly denying them, head hanging slightly – it’s clear she’s already considered the possibility, likely before she even mentioned the guardianship to Jughead and Veronica.

“We know that you have Juliette’s best interests at heart and completely understand your reasonings,” Jughead says kindly, standing and offering the older woman a hug before Veronica even has the chance to form some sort of apology, silently reminding Veronica of the fact that Jughead was practically a member of the Andrews family growing up, that he and Mary have a connection that she will likely never form with the older woman. As he slides back into his seat after a few short moments, moments where Veronica can only watch them enviously, wishing she had someone like Mary when she was growing up, he offers her a slight smile before turning toward the older woman and asking, “Is there anything else?”

“Everything is pretty straight-forward: all of their liquid assets are left to Juliette, kept in a trust fund until her twenty-first birthday, which you are both guardians of.” Mary pauses for a moment, smiling slightly, as if there’s a little bit of humor in the fact that Betty and Archie have seemingly left them in charge of _everything_ , a realization that has Jughead rolling his eyes beside her. “The two of you were given the deeds to the brownstone and, besides a few personal items that were left to a few other people, everything within it seems to be yours.”

Her mind is racing in overdrive, desperately trying to piece together what this new information means, but before she has the chance to ask for confirmation, the chance to voice any of her concerns, Jughead’s voice rings through the room with an incredulous, “They left us their house?”

“Yes, it – they want you to raise Juliette _here_ ,” Mary looks between the two of them, clearly trying to gauge their reactions, not daring to mention the fact that it’s also something _she_ wants, something she has wanted since she purchased Archie and Betty the brownstone.

“Here as in,” she makes a wide gesture to the space around her, though she doesn’t really need any confirmation (Archie and Betty only had _one_ house and Mary seemed pretty clear the first few times she said it).

“Together?” Jughead repeats, sounding more doubtful and anxious than before, as if suddenly the stakes have been raised, as if he’s struggling to comprehend the situation, too.

“I know this is _a lot_ to take in and, honestly, nothing has to be decided right away,” Mary’s choosing her words carefully, as if something might quickly trigger one of the two of them, as if she’s afraid of how she and Jughead might react. “I have already called the funeral home and church, have spoken with Alice and Fred about the bigger commitments and am handling all of the formal aspects of _everything_ – the two of you should focus on spending time with Juliette right now. I know that things are tough right now, know that it sucks having lost your best friends, but that little girl lost her _parents_ – she’s going to need you guys to be strong.”

Her impromptu speech makes Veronica feel about ten times worse about herself, about the way she’s handling things, the way she’s wallowing in self-pity while Mary has to do all of the hard work.

“Why don’t you both go to your apartments and get a few changes of clothes – I will stay with Juliette and make sure everything is fine when she wakes from her nap,” Mary suggests, though it’s clearly a thinly-veiled order, one that she and Jughead both heed to immediately.

* * *

They make their way to Riverdale a few days later, laying their friends in the cemetery that holds their relatives, their history (Veronica notices that Betty is placed nowhere near where Hal Cooper is buried, something she thinks is likely on purpose).

The mass, itself, is packed, with the town’s entire population showing up to offer condolences and reminisce about memories they cherish of the blonde and redhead, about a duo so perfectly _perfect_ it’s almost uncanny.

Veronica plasters a fake smile onto her face and shakes hands with each person, desperately trying to hold herself together, to not show weakness in the face of people who are likely just humoring her, offering thinly-veiled insults about her family in between empathetic, empty ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’s.

Toni Topaz, Cheryl Blossom’s long-time girlfriend, keeps Juliette entertained during the wake, sharing an occasional whisper with Jughead, who is lingering close to them, smiling at the small blonde in front of him. For a moment, only a brief moment, she allows herself to think about how good Jughead has been with the baby, how unexpectedly helpful he’s been, how _accommodating_ and understanding and-

“I’m sorry about all of this, V,” Cheryl says, her voice softer than Veronica has ever heard it, her expression showing genuine sorrow about everything. It’s perhaps the only time she’s ever seen Cheryl without a mask firmly in place, the only time she’s ever heard any sort of genuine emotion in the other girl’s tone, the only time Cheryl’s really spoken to her without any sort of sarcasm or bitterness lacing her words and, honestly, it leaves her a little unsettled.

“Cher-” Veronica’s voice cracks a little, allowing herself to be enveloped in her friend’s embrace, allowing herself to be weaker and more vulnerable than she’s ever wanted to be seen as (she can’t find it within herself to care right now).

Cheryl’s uncharacteristically warm about the entire situation, rubbing her back softly as she allows Veronica to cry, to leave make-up stains on her black dress, to wallow in the loss of her best friend.

“I heard about you and Jughead getting guardianship,” Cheryl says after a few moments, after it seems like Veronica has started to calm down a little, separating slightly from her friend in an attempt to judge her reaction. Veronica notices that Cheryl’s brown-eyed gaze seems to be trained on the sight she had been looking at a few moment before her friend interrupted her thoughts, a fond, genuine smile spreading across Cheryl’s porcelain face as she watches the two former gang members interact with the baby.

“Toni’s really good with Juliette, Cher,” she states, trying to swallow the sinking feeling in her throat, trying to quiet the voices in her head saying this isn’t a good idea. “Have you ever thought about maybe having a family?”

The former self-declared _Head Bitch in Charge_ turns toward her so quickly she wonders if the pale girl may have gotten a little bit of whiplash, eyes scanning her, filled with curiosity and confusion.

“Veronica, Toni and I-” Cheryl hesitates for a moment, “we could _never_ raise Juliette. We can’t provide that baby the kind of stability and love she needs, the kind that…” Her voice drifts off, but both understand the unspoken _“we never had”_ that completes her statement.

It makes her hate Cheryl a little bit, hate her for not wanting to raise the cutest baby she’s ever seen, but she understands exactly where the other woman is coming from – she and Cheryl haven’t exactly had _parental role models_ , haven’t seen what a family is actually supposed to look like.

Looking back toward the scene once more, watching the way Jughead’s eyes are trained on Juliette, carefully ensuring the baby is perfectly safe, she wonders how Cheryl could ever _not_ want her, how she could simply turn her away so easily (a larger part of her hates herself for even thinking about pawning Juliette off).

Jughead says something to Toni before he slowly makes his way toward her, Cheryl taking his place beside her girlfriend.

“How did that go?” He whispers softly, as if they’re trading illicit secrets or engaging in illegal activity, as if they’re doing something completely wrong (a part of her thinks they might be).

She meets his gaze evenly and shakes her head slightly, a clear sign of defeat, which he seems to have guessed, considering he doesn’t look entirely surprised.

“I talked with Fred earlier,” Jughead mumbles and, though he hasn’t said it yet, Veronica understands that it’s another _no_ , that Fred had found some sort of reasoning as to why he couldn’t take care of his only granddaughter. “I think, if he could, he would take Juliette in a heartbeat, but his health hasn’t been… great and, like Mary said, it takes a lot to raise a baby.”

Veronica runs through the mental list of potential candidates she had created in her head, crossing Cheryl and Fred Andrews off the list before realizing that there are no other contenders (Polly, Betty’s sister, already has six of her own children, four of whom are under the age of six, and Veronica knows that Jughead would feel uncomfortable asking Alice Cooper, especially given the whole situation between her and his father).

“They were – Fred and Cheryl were kind of our last options,” Veronica mumbles after a second, sighing in defeat as Jughead wraps a reassuring arm around her, both feeling a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

“We’ll talk with Mary tomorrow,” Jughead declares with a nod, the two of them watching Cheryl and Toni with Juliette, silently wondering how they’ll ever be able to raise their best friends’ daughter, how they’ll be able to do Betty and Archie _justice_.

* * *

They move into the brownstone, completely, about a week later, though they’ve been staying each night there, prioritizing Juliette and “ _immersing her with familiarity_ ” (Mary’s words).

The first thing they do is take down most (read: _all_ ) of the pictures of Betty and Archie, both agreeing that it feels as if they’re being watched, as if they are constantly having to measure up to people who are no longer around. They keep a picture of them with Juliette in her nursery, the one Jughead had taken as their first family photo, but put the rest away nicely in the cellar, boxed nicely and organized in a way that the woman at CVS promises won’t draw mold.

After all of the pictures are down, she takes on the task of redecorating, hanging a couple of pictures of the four of them, as well as a couple that Jughead has taken (random pictures - some of landscapes and the city, some of her and Betty – anything to make the space feel more personal).

He talks her out of repainting a couple of the rooms, though she wins the argument that has him moving into the master bedroom (the other guest rooms are two floors away and she is _not_ going to be on night duty for the rest of their lives).

They constantly bicker (because they’re still _Jughead and Veronica_ ), but it’s mostly over smaller issues like which of their friends to call to babysit ‘in case of emergency’ and whether or not they should start making donations to one of the better preschools in the area (she thinks it’s never too early, but he doesn’t see a problem with _public school_ ).

Their first court-mandated visit with Juliette’s social worker is somewhat of a success, though Veronica is slightly hesitant to call it that, given the fact that the man looks completely overworked and exhausted, hardly paying any attention to them as he scribbles down their responses to the questions he asks (she thinks they could have been complete psychopaths and he wouldn’t have noticed or cared). The man, _Dylan_ , tells them that he thinks things are going to be fine, that he has high hopes for the two of them, and she wonders if that’s a genuine compliment or said because he doesn’t want to have to handle Juliette going into the foster system (and all of the paperwork that would go along with it).

Veronica shifts quickly from _working woman in the twenty-first century_ to _stay-at-home mom desperately seeking help_ , like one of those people that hires a nanny even though they’re home all day, one of those people she used to mercilessly mock. Instead of high-end boutiques and late-night cocktails, she’s adjusting to a life of constant trips to the CVS around the corner and diaper changes – the only saving grace seems to be the fact that Jughead is also _adapting_ (read: suffering) alongside her and, for some reason or another, he seems to be pretty good with Juliette.

He spends his days typing away at his laptop at the dining room table, glancing up occasionally to check on Juliette, to ensure no sort of _permanent_ damage has been done, sometimes taking calls from his editor and reading whatever book _Katie_ has deemed up-and-coming (she sometimes reads them after him and some of them are just… _not_ ).

She goes back to work after two weeks, after the theme song of _Dora the Explorer_ is forever engrained in her memory to the point that she thinks she’s going to break the television if she hears it again, glad to be slipping into some semblance of her old routine. Confident that Jughead can handle everything at ~~hom~~ the brownstone without her, she has Jughead wash her nicest blouse and tells him that she'll pick up Chinese take-out on the way home, kissing Juliette's forehead as she makes her escape.

The people she works with are sympathetic, offering her pitying glances and starting each conversation with " _I heard about what happened to your friends_ ," words that make her want to physically harm each and every one of her co-workers (she's tired of sympathy and empathy and pity - she just wants to get back to her old life and work was supposed to be the starting point). Overall, it’s a somewhat hectic day and, when she arrives back in Brooklyn with a take-out bag in hand, she finds herself plastering on a fake smile, mentally preparing herself for what feels like her second job, this time as an understudy who’s desperately trying to mimic the lead actress’s part.

“How was work?” Jughead questions from his position on the couch, not turning to look at her and her disgruntled outfit, eyes trained on the television as he and Juliette watch an episode of _Blue’s Clues_ (one of the slightly more _tolerable_ programs Juliette loves).

She wants to ask if this is all they’ve been doing, if he’s exposed the baby to a brainwashing amount of television, if he’s even _considered_ changing out of the pajamas he’s currently in, but she instead finds herself taking a seat on the other side of the couch, watching as Steve and Blue try to solve a mystery (she thinks, briefly, about Jughead’s time as an amateur sleuth, working alongside Betty at the Blue and Gold, but doesn’t mention it).

“Good,” she replies, trying to sound as cheerful and enthusiastic as possible, though the flat look he sends her suggests that she’s either failed or he knows her a little better than she thought he did (she tells herself it’s the first option though wonders if it _could be_ the second). “Good _enough_ ,” she corrects with an eye roll, earning a smirk from him as she turns her focus toward the television.

These past few weeks, she has found herself thinking that things have been going pretty _easily_ between the two of them, that they’re handling things better than she thought they would have, that (though they’re obviously not Betty and Archie) they’re not the worst replacements ever.

Sure, they _bicker_ and _argue_ , they’re strongly opinionated people who are always willing to have a nice, civil debate (it’s only natural), but they’re a pretty good team, too.

Part of her, the smallest part, wonders if that’s the reason why she and Jughead were named Juliette’s guardians, wonders if Betty had thought they would make a good team, too.

* * *

“If we don’t get her to stop screaming, our neighbors are going to file a noise complaint, I just know it,” Veronica mutters as she rests her head against the couch in the nursery, her eyes closing slightly from exhaustion, though Juliette’s loud wails stop any chance she has of actually falling asleep. Her phone, the one she has been frantically searching for quick mommy-blog advice on for the past four-or-so hours, tells her it’s 2:18 in the morning, way past the eight o’clock bedtime they’ve instilled, way past _her own_ bedtime.

Beside her, Jughead is holding the baby, bouncing slightly as he paces the room, desperate for some sort of reprieve from the loud, harsh squeals Juliette is emitting, desperate for a moment of silence. He looks a little panicked, as if he thinks something might actually be wrong with the baby, as if she hadn’t already called the pediatrician _twice_ , shooting her a glare that tells her he doesn’t appreciate her commentary, her complaints over the ones being loudly voiced from the baby he’s trying to settle.

“V, maybe if you took a turn-” He lifts his arms, extending them so she can have the baby, but Veronica flat out refuses, deciding that it’s Mr. Mom’s time to shine (and, honestly, that’s kind of what Jughead’s become – socializing with other parents at the park, handling all of the meals and dishes, doing all of the household chores – she sometimes forgets he has an _actual_ job).

“Just put her down, Jug, maybe she wants to sprawl,” Veronica suggests half-heartedly, head lolling in his direction as he takes a seat on the rug beside her, letting out a loud sigh before turning toward Juliette.

Evidently, that isn’t what the baby wants _at all_ , but she silently decides that she’s going to try to ignore the gut-wrenching cries coming from the baby, try to ignore the way they make her feel a little like a complete imposter who’s being called out, as if Juliette’s looking for her parents and she and Jughead are coming up short _every damn time_.

Jughead seems to be in agreement, cringing at each cry she emits but refraining from picking her up, from trying to placate her. “The parenting books Alice gave us,” he pauses to yawn, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “said that she needs to learn to _self-soothe_.” She thinks the statement might be for his own sake more than hers, considering he mumbles it as if it’s a reassurance that he’s doing the right thing, a justification that, even though Juliette seems unhappy now, she’ll be better in the long run.

“Maybe she’s looking for-”

“Don’t even go there, Lodge,” Jughead interrupts her, eyes closed as he leans his head back against the couch, trying to block out the deafening wails of the small girl in front of him, trying to pretend as if everything is fine. “She’s a _baby_ , there’s no way she knows that Archie and Betty aren’t here and, if by chance she does notice, well there’s not really anything we can do about that.”

He’s right, _of course,_ he’s right, and the rational side of her brain tries to accept that, but it’s late and she’s feeling emotion and _stressed_ and-

“What if we’re just messing her up?” The questions falls from her lips without her even knowing, unfiltered and vulnerable in a way she never really is with Jughead. 

Turning his head toward her, opening his eyes slightly, Jughead watches her closely, clearly trying to decide what the best course of action is, before settling on, “Veronica, our parents were truly _horrible_ and they didn’t mess us up _that badly_. There’s no way to really know if we’re doing the right thing, if we’re making the right choices, but we do have to _make_ choices.”

She’s pretty sure he read that in one of those parenting books, too – it sounds to _reassuring_ and _reaffirming_ to be something that Jughead, the guy who has always been a little more self-deprecating that she thought healthy, could have strung together on his own.

“But what if-” The rest of her sentence is lost the second he clamps his hand over her mouth, shooting her a slight glare as he sits up straighter, watching Juliette cautiously, the baby calmly staring back at the two of them.

It takes her a moment to recognize the fact that Juliette has stopped wailing, that she’s finally allowing herself to drift to sleep, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion as she stares at the two of them (Veronica thinks it’s probably for the better that Jughead cut her off, anyways, especially given the deep spiral she was headed toward).

The two of them watch the baby in silence, cautious to move her, to make any sort of movements before the girl is completely asleep, though she can’t help the feeling of success coursing through her, the feeling that she’s won some sort of battle of wills that she and Juliette had been competing in.

Once the baby’s brown eyes close, Veronica carefully lifts her, moving slower than usual, understanding the consequences if anything goes _wrong_ , as Jughead moves toward the crib, pushing aside all of Juliette’s toys and clearing room for her to put the baby.

They tuck Juliette into the crib together, stopping to offer the small girl fond looks, to notice how _sweet_ and _innocent_ she looks now that she isn’t screaming at them as if they’ve ruined her life and, when Jughead leans down to press a light kiss to Juliette’s forehead, she feels her heart race a little (it’s exhaustion, of course, it is, she should be sleeping right now).

“What?” Jughead whispers, looking confused as he stands to meet her gaze. “Is there something wrong?”

She realizes she’s been staring too long, that she’s completely lost her mind, and shakes her head, slowly leading the two of them out of the nursery and toward their respective rooms.

“Good night,” Jughead yawns, offering a slight wave as he turns toward the master bedroom, rubbing at his eyes, looking like he’s going to fall asleep the second he lays on the mattress.

“Wait Jug-” She doesn’t know why she says it, doesn’t know why she stops him, but tells herself that she doesn’t have the brain capacity to even try to analyze her choices. “Thanks for… in there,” she gestures toward the closed nursery door and he nods in understanding, “I really – I’m sorry I got so freaked out, I just-”

“You don’t need to explain, Veronica,” Jughead cuts her off easily, running a hand through his dark locks, turning back toward her, his back leaning against the bedroom door. “It’s hard, I understand that, but it’s really important that we don’t compare ourselves to them, that we don’t try to measure up to impossible standards – we’re not them, V.”

She knows that, unlike his earlier reassuring statements, these are his own words, constructed with an understanding the two of them share, with a kindness she’s hardly found herself on the receiving end of.

“Thanks, Jug,” she smiles slightly, nodding in his direction before turning back toward her door, “good night.”

* * *

“You need a night off,” Kevin Keller insists as he stops by her office during his lunch break, offering her a take-out container of her favorite Thai food and a knowing glance, looking somewhat horrified by the mess of snack wrappers and kids toys scattered around her office from when she had brought Juliette to work with her a few days ago.

She _loves_ Kevin, she honestly does, to the point where she can’t even imagine her life without his weirdly ever-present enthusiasm and charm, but she almost wants to strangle him as soon as the sentence passes his lips, the over-simplification of her _clearly_ complicated situation making her blood boil.

“Kev, you know it’s not that easy, Jug and I-”

“-are doing your best and raising the world’s cutest kid, I know,” Kevin rolls his eyes, finishing her sentence with ease, “but you need a night off, V. Josie is back in town for a couple of days and we should all go get drinks tonight!”

His eyes are sparkling with excitement at the idea, probably already planning their coordinating outfits and the itinerary of all bars they’ll be going – it’s tempting, an opportunity she probably would have easily agreed to a few months ago, but now she flexes some restraint, offers him a sorrowful glance, and tells her friend, “Kevin, I can’t just leave Jughead and Juliette for the night because I _feel_ like it. We have a schedule, one we strictly adhere to, and I’m pretty sure it’s Jughead’s night off.”

It’s not, she knows that, in their weird little rotation, it’s absolutely _her_ turn to spend the night away from the house, pretending she isn’t raising her dead best friends’ baby, but she likes to spend her evenings curled into her bed, watching old movies on her laptop and reading books Jughead thinks she’ll like – the urge to party and be _young and carefree_ has somewhat passed, was likely swept away the minute she found herself moving to Brooklyn to honor Betty and Archie’s last wishes.

Kevin, as someone who hardly ever gives up when he thinks he has a good idea, doesn’t seem bothered by the schedule she and Jughead have set, doesn’t seem to find a problem with the fact that it’s not her turn, instead saying, “I’ll call Jughead and ask him to trade you nights,” as if it’s just _that_ easy (it is, but she wishes he didn’t know that).

Jughead, apparently taking a break form his writing and meetings, responds to Kevin’s pleading text with a simple “ _sure?”_ and, without looking at him or even being in the same room as him, Veronica can perfectly see the way his eyebrows were likely knit together in confusion, can hear the hesitancy in his voice, as if he thinks it might be some sort of trick.

“Tonight, I’ll bring a dress by later,” Kevin exclaims happily as he leaves, mentally preparing to go back to his own office (he’s on the fashion staff at Vogue, which is kind of a _huge_ deal), leaving her to think about the possible outcomes of the night, about the fact that she hasn’t actually _gone out_ since before Betty and Archie’s untimely… (she still hasn’t let herself actually say that they’re _dead_ , doesn’t allow herself to think about it too much).

Though they haven’t discussed it, she finds herself thinking about her arrangement with Jughead, the way that they’ve both put their lives on hold to raise Juliette, the way that they can’t simply co-exist as _platonic roommates_ forever – eventually one of them is going to want something different, to start an _actual_ family, to have a life outside of their little Brooklyn bubble (she doesn’t know why she thinks that the _someone_ will be Jughead, doesn’t know why she thinks she would be perfectly fine handling the situation as they have been for the next seventeen years – but it scares her, so much that she actually finds herself looking forward to her evening with Kevin, looking forward to the reminder that the world hasn’t just _stopped_ , even though it seems as if hers has).

“Maybe I should just go home,” Veronica mutters as they enter the busy club, dressed in the outfit Kevin brought for her (black and tight, of course), following behind Kevin and Josie as they make their way into some apparently up-and-coming club. Cheryl and Toni are waiting for the three of them at the bar, smiling and sipping from frozen drinks, talking over the music and looking completely comfortable, completely in their element (she feels completely _out_ of hers).

“What? No, Veronica, we hardly ever see you anymore,” Kevin complains, his voice taking on a slightly higher pitch, eyes widening in emphasis, pulling her closer to the bar and away from the exit.

“Kev, if Veronica is uncomfortable, maybe we should let her leave,” Josie is clearly trying to be rational and understanding, though Veronica can see the slight sadness in her friend’s features, clearly not completely on board with her ending the evening early. “She’s a _mom_ now Kevin and-”

“I’m not a mom,” Veronica interrupts Josie quickly, a correction that bubbles to the surface before she has the chance to filter it, the need to defend herself falling onto her shoulders like a familiar blanket. “Sure, things have been _different_ , but it’s not like I’m changing my lifestyle around to accommodate Juliette.”

It’s a complete lie, one both Kevin and Josie can clearly see through, but she doesn’t want to elaborate, doesn’t want to think about all the things she _hasn’t_ done since gaining custody of Betty’s baby, and instead powers forward, pushing her way through sweaty bodies until she’s standing between Cheryl and Toni, ordering a Moscow mule and trying not to think about how she’s become the kind of person she once accused Betty of being ( _“Betty, it feels like, ever since you had a baby, you’re a completely different person,” she had whined, feeling a slight amount of resentment for the baby as Betty laughed, shaking her head and muttering about how Veronica would understand someday_ ).

One Moscow mule quickly turns into four (she tells herself that she has _no responsibilities_ , tells herself that she’s only going to be young once, but guilt seems to settle in the pit of her stomach, her conscious screaming that she’s making all of the wrong decisions) and, as Reggie Mantle shuffles her into a taxi, she finds herself struggling to stay awake, her mind racing with unspoken questions (when had Reggie even shown up to the bar?).

Reggie helps her all the way to the brownstone, shifting through her purse to find her key, inserting the key into the lock (she had tried multiple times with _minimal_ success), going as far as to open the door for her as she stumbles through, mumbling a quick _“hello”_ to Jughead before he makes a hasty exit.

“Seems like you’ve had quite the night,” Jughead comments lightly, watching her from his perch on the sofa in the living room, his laptop screen lit up as he bites back a smirk, his tone taking on a condescending tone that she instantly hates.

“Don’t even,” she mutters, though her voice carries a little louder than she had intended.

“You might want to be a little quieter, Lodge – Juliette _just_ went to sleep and if she wakes up, that’s on you,” he looks back at his computer screen, his fingers moving across the keys in a pattern that makes her head hurt.

She shoots him her best glare, one she reserves for mean girls and people she doesn’t think deserve _her_ , before stumbling slightly toward the stairs, almost falling completely on her face in a fashion that seems to gain Jughead’s attention.

“What the hell happened to you, Veronica,” Jughead mutters, setting his laptop down quickly before making his way to her side, helping her stand and steadying her against his own frame, disgusted by the smell of alcohol on her breath, by _her_.

“I was just having some _fun_ , Jughead. Maybe you’ve never heard of it?” She snaps, removing her hand quickly from his own, which causes her balance to suffer more than she thought it would, almost tipping over.

“Oh, I’ve heard of it alright – guess I never thought getting completely plastered was your idea of fun,” he replies softly, though there is a clear bite to his words, a clear amount of superiority that is upsetting her more than usual. “You have a _kid_ now, Veronica.” He stresses the word as if it should mean _something_ , as if it should mean _everything_ , and she can’t resist the urge to roll her eyes.

“She isn’t my kid,” Veronica hisses coolly, tired of the accusations and allegations, tired of having to explain the situation, tired of playing some part in Betty and Archie’s twisted dreams. “We’re not _Archie and Betty_! These aren’t our lives, Jughead, and I wish you would at least acknowledge the fact that this _obviously_ isn’t what you wanted! We’re pretending we’re _them_ , living in their house, raising their kid, circling one another as if nothing is wrong, but everything is _fucking_ wrong!”

"Betty and Archie were the _perfect_ parents, they had the _perfect_ house and the _perfect_ kid! We're not them, Jughead! We're messed up beyond belief and, let's face it, we're fucking up with Juliette! They were the light that we craved and, without them, all we have is darkness! How _fucked_ up is that!" She pauses for a moment, her thoughts still swirling around in her head, overlapping and confusing. "I love Juliette, she's sweet and _perfect_ and we're fucking ruining her! She had the _perfect_ parents, was maybe the only person I know who was destined to have the perfect family, but now all she has is _us_! We're imposters, Jug! She's going to grow up hating us, because let's face it, who really has liked _us_ more than Archie and Betty, the absolute dream team?"

A quiet sob escapes her, a sign of defeat, as she feels her anger start to die, the urge to fight dwindling, a weight lifted off her shoulders as she finally says how she’s been feeling for _months_.

“You need to get to bed,” he swiftly picks her up (when had Jughead gotten _strong_?), taking her up the two flights of stairs and dropping her off at the top, disappointment radiating off his figure, the tension palpable as he stares at her as if she’s someone he doesn’t know, as if he’s never known her. He doesn't mention her drunken rambles, doesn't dispute her statements or reaffirm her fears - he doesn't say _anything_ , really.

She really wants to say _something_ , wants him to retaliate, wants them to argue and bicker like they usually do, but instead Jughead silently retreats back toward the living room and she goes into her own bedroom, unable to let herself fall asleep, stuck thinking about the way he looked at her as if she was _nothing_ , the way that she’s ruined any sort of progress between the two of them so _easily_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter was a little harder to write than I anticipated, mostly because I kept wondering if it was _too much_.
> 
> I hope you liked it, regardless, and I promise I’m working on the next chapter as I type the final words of this note.
> 
> Let me know what you would like to see next!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Also, let me just ask you all, as people who are clearly users (readers) on this website, as people who have enjoyed CW programming - have you ever found yourselves watching Gossip Girl? Because I did, back when it was airing, and I remember thinking that Chuck and Blair were the perfect couple, but I recently started watching it again (thanks to the pandemic and a lot of time on my hands) and I just realized that _Dan and Blair_ were the shows best pairing, strongest relationship. Thoughts? (sorry this is obviously a little off-topic, it's just been on my mind lately)


	3. you see the world that i see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, okay - I know how long it's been and I'd like to start this chapter by offering an apology. I've been writing it for a long time, working toward something and, honestly, I'm still not sure that I like it, but I think this is one of my better attempts. Let me know what you think - I might come back around and make some major changes!
> 
> also, I wanted to thank everyone for reading and leaving such lovely comments - reading them makes me smile and helps inspire me to write a little more!

When she wakes up to the sun streaming brightly into the guest bedroom ( _her bedroom_ , she corrects herself after a minute), it takes all the restraint she can muster to force herself out of bed, to convince herself that wallowing under the covers and avoiding her problems (see: _Jughead_ ) will accomplish nothing.

Her hangover is worse than it’s ever been, the strong drumbeat on her temples pairing perfectly with the guilt that settles easily in her stomach, white-hot and nagging, as if it’s an old friend she’s been desperately trying to get rid of. Turning away from the window, she notices a glass of water that hadn’t been on her bedside table when she fell asleep, a couple of aspirin sitting beside it, and a cup of coffee made just the way she likes it, still a little steamy as if Jughead had somehow perfectly mapped out when she was going to wake up.

She swallows the water and aspirin easily, dragging herself out of bed as she carefully carries the warm coffee cup downstairs, deciding that she needs to face her problems head-on, that she needs to settle things before any sort of _tension_ falls between them (a voice, one that sounds a little like Jughead, mocks her, tells her that it’s too late to make amends, that she’s already ruined things between them, but she blatantly ignores it).

He’s in the kitchen, talking softly to Juliette, offering her bites of Cheerios and reveling in the little girl’s laughter, his face lit up with a bright smile – since he isn’t aware of her presence, she allows herself a moment to really soak up this moment, to notice how in his element he seems around Juliette.

Clearing her throat softly, trying to indicate him of her presence without making some sort of scene, mentally practicing an apology ( _multiple apologies_ ), she notices the way his eyes seem to soften as they meet her gaze, the way he looks a little wary of her presence, as if she might start rambling and sobbing again.

“Good morning,” she says softly, offering him a slight smile, trying to gauge his reaction, to judge how many apologies it will take to fix things between the two of them. “Listen, about last night-”

“Veronica,” his voice is soft and tender, understanding in a way that she isn’t expecting, “I’m sorry that I over-reacted when you came home last night – obviously I know that you’re great with Juliette, that you’re not a heavy drinker by any means, and I didn’t mean to accuse you of that. It’s just, seeing you, the way you could hardly stand, it reminded me…” He doesn’t finish his statement and he doesn’t _need_ to, she understands the comparison he’s making, hadn’t even thought about what it must have been like, seeing her so drunk, taking care of her like he once took care of his own father.

They have never really discussed their past – they’ve obviously learned smaller things about one another, things that were shared in a group setting with Betty and Archie, but neither has gone out of their way to fully explain everything in detail. She can’t imagine what it must have been like, to be young and alone, trying to help a father who couldn’t cope with the pain of losing his wife and daughter, knowing that he somehow wasn’t enough for his own _mother_ to take with her ( _“she said that he reminded her too much of FP,”_ Archie had explained when Veronica had asked, right after Gladys Jones had come back to town).

“God Jug, I’m… I know we don’t _talk about it_ , but I would never be like… I would never,” she feels like all of the words she’s trying to say aren’t adequate enough, don’t fully express what she’s trying to say, don’t allow him to really _know_ how she’s feeling.

“You don’t, I should be the one apologizing, Veronica. I know you would never be like him, you’re almost exactly the opposite, and I just wanted you to know,” Jughead offers before taking a sip from his coffee, clearly trying to keep the conversation light and easy, trying to avoid her long tangent (she thinks it’s probably for her own sake, that he doesn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, but both know she owes him a few apologies, too).

“Jughead, I owe you a million apologies for what happened last night, about what I said and how I acted,” she cringes, remembering how upset she had been, remembering the insults she had easily hurled in his direction. “We’re not Archie and Betty, but we’re doing our best and I’m sorry for belittling that last night.”

“If you’re – Veronica, it’s perfectly fine to have _doubts_ , but we’re a team,” Jughead gives her a small, genuine smile, “obviously we’re going to make mistakes, but that’s kind of _expected_ of us.”

Instead of responding, instead of thinking of an argument that might mention more differences between the two of them and their best friends or debating which of them is going to make _more_ mistakes (her, definitely _her_ ), she just nods and takes a sip of her coffee, hiding the smile she feels growing on her face.

* * *

She smiles as she makes her way back toward the brownstone (she stops herself from mentioning that it’s _Archie and Betty’s_ , stops placing any form of possessive in front of the place she’s grown accustomed to), pushing Juliette’s stroller as the small girl giggles happily.

It’s beautiful and _fall_ (her favorite season): she’s walking back from breakfast with Kevin and Fangs, who bought Juliette more tutus and tulle than she’s ever seen, and is feeling more successful than she has in a while (the baby is smiling and healthy, she hasn’t completely ruined the Andrews family name, she and Jughead haven’t absolutely killed one another yet).

There are still some things that she isn’t necessarily adjusted to – even after all these months, she’s still refrained from going grocery shopping and she purposely avoids doing any laundry (she’s seen too many movies where people accidentally turn everything pink), but she’s also learned some of her parenting strengths (bath time happens to be her area of expertise and she’s pretty positive that Jughead has never even touched anything made by Swiffer).

“You have such a cute baby,” someone gushes as they make their way past her, smiling brightly in Juliette’s direction before passing her on the busy sidewalk.

Part of her, the part that doesn’t want anyone to underscore the importance of her best friends, wants to chase the other woman and tell her the entire story, explain that the blonde baby in her stroller isn’t _hers_ , but she instead offers a slight smile and continues walking.

 _‘It’s all about progress, Veronica,’_ the voice inside her head offers, sounding alarmingly like Betty (if she closes her eyes, she can see the bright smile on the blonde’s face, excitement and pride shining in her green eyes).

Smiling brighter, basking in the compliment she’s given herself, she feels lighter as she enters the brownstone, lifting Juliette from the stroller as she makes her way toward the dining room, half expecting to see Jughead hunched over his computer, running a hand through his dark locks as he shields his screen, as if something will be _wrong_ if anyone even catches a glance at his unfinished work.

Instead of the sight she expects, she finds Jughead sitting at the marble bar, a glass bottle of mocha half-way empty as his eyes scan the pages of Glennon Doyle’s _Untamed_ , his mouth slightly open as he silently reads some of the words from the pages. She can practically hear his brain working, the connections he’s making, the way he’s perceiving the words she had raved about only a few days before when she offered him her copy of the novel – it makes her smile, knowing that he actually listened to her suggestion, that he purchased his own copy to make notes in the margins.

Yeah, they’re connected by Juliette and their friendship with the Andrews family, but watching him reminds her of the fact that the similarities between them don’t necessarily end there: sure, they have the same choice in friends, but they also share the same love of literature and classic film, the same desire to watch people and observe more than taking charge.

Watching him read the pages she can practically recite, his eyes sparkling with interest, she can’t help her desire to know what he’s thinking – she wishes she could read his thoughts, that she was privy to the inner-workings of his brain (a feeling she isn’t unfamiliar with – a feeling she felt constantly throughout their high school career, especially during the whole ‘Serpent King’ phase).

 _“You guys are like Dan Humphrey and Blair Waldorf in real life,”_ Kevin had joked earlier, swooning slightly at the idea. _“Intellectually matched, seemingly the worst couple in theory, but still the healthiest relationship ‘Gossip Girl’ showed fans!”_

“Hey Jug,” Veronica offers softly, wrapping her knuckles against the wooden doorframe of the kitchen, not wanting to startle him or interrupt his concentration, but knowing that he’s completely lost in the pages in front of him.

“Oh, hey, how was brunch with Kevin and Fangs?” Jughead looks up from the book, setting it down on the counter as he takes a sip from the glass bottle in front of him.

“They were good,” Veronica offers with a slight smile, trying not to think about the fact that he clearly _remembered_ where she was, that he had listened when she told him and took the time to actually _ask_ about it. “They think we should dress up as-”

“-Harry Potter characters? Kevin messaged me about it this morning with links to the costumes and some sort of BuzzFeed quiz to sort me into a house,” he completes her sentence, chuckling slightly at the memory.

He doesn’t seem bothered by the idea like she had argued that he would – he doesn’t seem reluctant or even bitter, but rather more _amused_ than anything.

Before she thinks of the next thing to say, he’s closing the metal cap onto his mocha and reaching for Juliette, greeting the baby with a bright smile as he presses their foreheads together in a way that makes her heart beat a little faster, fondness and genuine excitement shining in his blue eyes.

Watching as he walks away, bouncing the giggling baby as he makes his way toward the living room, his voice a few octaves higher as he regards the small girl, she wonders when she stopped thinking of Jughead as the brooding teenager she never really knew and when he became the doting paternal figure that seemed to just _understand_.

Picking up his book and flipping to some of her favorite passages, she smiles at his scrawl that covers the pages, little notes about what he likes and what he thinks _she_ might like, she thinks maybe it’s not such a bad change – maybe she hadn’t really been seeing Jughead before, but rather had only been seeing what he wanted to people to see.

Scanning one of her favorite passages, she’s caught up in her thoughts, unable to comprehend any of the words on the page as she questions what else she knows about Jughead is _real_.

* * *

“You should plan him a birthday party!” Toni’s eager and excited, a bright smile spreading across her face as she thinks about what sort of event it might become: Veronica is approximately two seconds away from offering the other woman a scathing remark before she catches Cheryl’s gaze (vicious and forceful, Veronica bites back whatever mark she was about to offer).

Kevin’s eyes are sparkling as if it’s the best idea he’s heard all day and, sitting across the table from him, Veronica can already see him planning every detail, his mind working in over-drive to plan what he will likely deem the _perfect_ event.

All she can think of is the party Betty threw for Jughead when they were teenagers: the awkwardly frosted cake, the weirdly creepy ‘Happy Birthday,’ the fact that Jughead had never seemed more uncomfortable than he did in that moment. It’s enough to elicit a quick, “no,” from her, her head shaking slightly as she takes a sip from the ice coffee in front of her.

“Why not?” Kevin whines, a pout forming on his face as his gaze meets hers in challenge, as if daring her to think of what could _possibly_ go wrong (as if she hasn’t already started forming a list). “I get that surprise parties aren’t usually Jughead’s thing, but don’t you think it would be nice to celebrate him – especially since you guys have been through a lot these past few months?”

Maybe if the idea of celebrating Jughead wasn’t so horrible to the guest of honor or if she even had any sort of idea about what to _get_ Jughead for his birthday, she would be more receptive to the idea: since both are listed as reasons to _not_ throw the party, all Veronica can do is bite back a few chuckles and shake her head.

“I think we’re going to celebrate Jughead’s birthday in a more low-key fashion; maybe watch a few of his favorite movies and eat Chinese from the place he likes around the corner,” Veronica says after a minute, reciting the proposition she had offered him a couple of days ago. “Things have been kind of crazy for the two of us, it’s time to keep things a little easier to manage, especially given how young Juliette still is.”

“But-”

“-Reggie and I can watch Juliette for you,” Josie offers, stopping whatever argument Kevin had been preparing, shooting her friend a slight glare before offering the dark-haired girl a soft smile. “We’re thinking about maybe starting a family of our own one day and a night with Juliette might just be what we need to really make a firm decision.”

She wants to protest, to insist that it would be wrong to celebrate Jughead’s birthday without Juliette, but she isn’t prepared for the onslaught of ‘married with kids’ jokes Kevin is likely practicing, isn’t ready for the embarrassment that will follow her announcing to all of her friends that she and Jughead have never spent time without Juliette near them.

It’s irrational and, to be fair, she and Jughead have discussed her fear about leaving the baby with someone else (it is, after all, how things unfolded the night Betty and Archie died): Jughead always counters her arguments with a certain mixture of amusement and fondness, as if he can’t believe she’s this worried but he still finds it endearing.

“I’ll talk with Jughead about it,” Veronica promises, ignoring the knowing looks she receives from Toni (who likely knows about her fear) and Cheryl (who she’s confided in). “Thanks for offering, Josie,” she adds after a few seconds, after realizing it was the appropriate response.

She knows that she’s going to talk with Jughead, but can already picture how the conversation will go, with Jughead acknowledging her fears but encouraging her to trust their friends – she knows things are different, that Reggie and Josie are both responsible adults, but it still doesn’t feel _right_.

That being said, when Jughead places his hand softly on hers later that night, assuring her that they can do whatever she feels comfortable with, she musters all the courage inside of her and tells Josie that they’ll take her up on the offer.

* * *

“He’s basically your husband,” Reggie chirps as they walk through the brownstone, his arms filled with all of the things she’s deemed _necessary_ (less than what Archie and Betty had brought her the night of the choir concert, though not by much). Jughead is taking another load down to the taxi, profusely thanking the young man for waiting as the haul everything down, tipping him heavily.

“He’s _not_.” Her jaw is locked, teeth clenched, eyes glaring at the pack-and-play as if it’s committed some sort of injustice against her. “He’s Juliette’s father-figure, Reg, that’s it.”

She’s confident and self-assured, though she can’t help the fact that she’s found herself thinking about it more and more lately, wondering what it might be like for the two of them to be together. If Betty were still around, the blonde would gush that she had known it all along, a wide smile plastered across her delicate features as she declared that they should be celebrating – however, if Betty were still around, Veronica isn’t sure any of this would be happening.

“You two are practically married, Ronnie: even in high school, when you were madly in love with Archie, it wasn’t like this.” He’s quieter and more serious than usual, as if he’s concerned that Jughead may be lingering somewhere close, but he still wants to make a case for his best friend.

“Yeah, it wasn’t like this because Jughead and I are just _friends_ ,” she hisses the word quickly, adding as much venom to it as possible.

“No, it’s not – when you were with Archie, you were always trying to be something else, you were always fighting to keep the pristine image he had of you. Maybe it was because you always thought he was into Betty, maybe it was because you had a lot of family shit going on and just wanted to hold onto something, fuck if I know,” Reggie mutters, shaking his head as if the memories leave him with a bad taste in his mouth (they certainly leave _her_ with one). “Things with you and Jug, he doesn’t expect you to be anyone besides who you are, he just sees you.”

She wants to cry a little, wants to wail that life isn’t fair and that it’s beyond weird that _Reggie Mantle_ , the guy who only cared about the football team and ensuring that he wasn’t classified as _gay_ in high school, has actually turned into some sort of voice of reason. She wants to rush into his open arms and accept any sort of warmth he’s willing to offer, to cling to him as she attempts to stifle whatever feelings she might be experiencing for _Jughead_.

Instead, she finds herself glaring at the picture of Betty, Archie, and Juliette in the nursery as Jughead makes his way back to the room, panting slightly and looking a little worse for wear (he _always_ complains about how many flights of stairs they have).

“V, I think Reggie and Josie have everything they need,” Jughead says after a moment, looking at the things in Reggie’s arms with a small amount of disdain, as if reminding himself that whatever they force Reggie to take will have to be returned. “If they don’t, there’s a store near them and Reggie knows what kind of food Jules likes.”

“But-”

“-no, absolutely not. I can’t take anything else back down those stairs. In fact, Reggie, maybe we should just say goodbye here instead of downstairs and you can see yourself out,” Jughead suggests, flopping down on the white sofa in Juliette’s nursery, his long limbs sprawled in each direction.

“If it wasn’t your birthday, Jones,” Reggie offers with a smile, shaking his head, fondness ringing through his tone as he regards his friend.

“I’ll walk Reggie out,” Veronica offers quickly, interrupting whatever moment the two friends had been having, bulldozing through the tension she felt was falling in the room (and creating more in her wake).

“Good luck with that,” Jughead laughs, shaking his head before waving at Reggie, who sets down a large majority of the supplies she had handed him (the diaper genie, the high chair, and the play pen are all placed neatly next to one another and the door).

“Listen Lodge, I just think you should-”

“-Reggie, let’s not talk about that anymore,” she interrupts him, making her way quickly down the stairs, as if speeding up her pace will speed up the amount of time it takes him to get into the taxi with Josie and Juliette. “It’s – there’s – it’s not going to happen for us.”

“Not if you don’t try,” Reggie argues softly, but Veronica blocks him out, instead darting toward the front door and closing it quickly as he makes his way outside.

“What do you say to a little Humphrey Bogart marathon?” Veronica calls as she makes her way back toward the nursery, holding back a smile at the sight of Jughead asleep on the couch.

“We’re just friends,” she mutters softly to herself, closing the door behind her as she turns off the light, making her way back to her own bedroom and to one of the books she chose out of Betty’s collection of romantic novels and comedies.

* * *

Between Kevin’s interrogation of her relationship status and her co-workers’ blatantly commenting on how _attractive_ they find Jughead, Veronica can honestly say that it’s been a pretty _shitty_ day (and, okay, she would never _say_ that because she and Jughead agreed to cut down on the swear words near Juliette, but she’s definitely thinking it).

Making her way back toward the brownstone, her hair dripping with rain droplets that the weather man hadn’t predicted, her white shirt practically see-through and earning her _various_ glances on the subway, she wonders how anything could be _worse_ , wonders why it seems like the universe is just _against_ her.

Storming into the brownstone, watching as Jughead laughs with an unfamiliar brunette who seems a year or two younger than they are, her stomach sinks and she decides that she’s just _over_ today – that things have just kept getting progressively worse, no matter how many times she questions if it’s even possible.

The two of them are seated at the dining room table, printed pages of what she assumes is Jughead’s novel laying scattered around them as they both have bright smiles plastered on their faces, pens uncapped handing from their lips – it’s the _perfect_ image, the kind that she’s always wanted to be a part of but has never seemed to fit into.

“-there are obviously some bad spots, Jug,” the girl laughs, her voice cheerful and optimistic, melodic almost (Veronica hates her _instantly_ ), “like when-”

“Veronica!” Jughead’s voice is louder than it needs to be, his blue eyes widening as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. He looks alarmed and disheveled, whatever happiness had been plastered on his face disappearing at the sight of her, as if she’s interrupted some sort of _moment_. “You look completely soaked, let me get you a towel.”

He makes a speedy exit toward the half-bathroom on the first floor, leaving the brunette to clean up the papers he’s left in his wake (she notices that the other woman is working quickly, as if whatever is on the pages is some sort of secret between she and Jughead, some sort of joke Veronica will never understand).

“I didn’t realize it was raining,” the brunette mutters after a minute, compiling all of the sheets into a pristine pile before offering her a warm smile that seems friendlier than Veronica allows herself to think it is. “I’m _Katie_ , I don’t think we’ve met.”

Though they haven’t met, Veronica is accustomed to hearing the name _Katie_ , mostly from conversations with Betty, during which the blonde would rave about how fun and spontaneous _Katie_ was or how perfectly matched Jughead and _Katie_ were: for a while, Veronica had thought that _Katie_ was some sort of made-up character made to terrorize her and ruin one of her strongest relationships. Looking at the brunette in front of her, she decides that the verdict is still out of the second part, though it’s clear that the brunette is an actual _person_.

“Veronica,” she offers after a minute, wondering how long it could possibly take Jughead to find towels, wondering how much more awkward the situation was about to become. “Would you like to stay for-”

“-I actually have to be going,” Katie interrupts her quickly, the pages of Jughead’s novel tucked securely in her arms. “Will you tell Jug that I’ll stop by in a couple of days with a few more edits?”

Katie looks desperate to leave, her green eyes practically pleading, and Veronica nods, feeling a slight sense of pity for the other woman and an incessant urge to get her out of the place she’s begun thinking of as _her_ home (admittedly, it’s her home with _Jughead_ , though she usually leaves that part out in her head).

“It was nice meeting you, Veronica,” Katie offers as she slips the pages into her large tote-bag, waving slightly before heading toward the door.

Veronica watches the brunette as she hastily makes her exit, running a hand through her wet hair as she tries to comprehend everything that’s happening around her -tries to analyze what she just walked into.

“-Okay V, so I didn’t find a towel in the bathroom down here, but I pulled this one from your bath- oh, did Katie leave?” Jughead’s voice greets her before he does, carrying through the brownstone as he makes his way down the stairs, Juliette in his arms, grinning brightly and holding the fluffy white towel she knows he took from her bathroom (it’s always been one of her favorites, one that feels like getting a hug every time she wraps herself in it).

“Yeah, she said she had to go,” Veronica’s voice trails off, as if to imply that she knows there are some details missing, as if she’s just waiting for Jughead to fill in the pieces of the story that she doesn’t know. She reaches for Juliette and the towel, grinning as the small girl giggles in her arms, her day instantly brighter. “Is everything okay with her?”

Jughead hesitates, as if he wants to tell her something, but then shakes his head and plasters a slight smile on his face, running a hand through his dark locks and taking a slow, deep breath.

“Everything is fine – Katie was just hoping to send the novel to the publishers this weekend, which wasn’t going to happen, anyways,” Jughead says after a minute, though he doesn’t look as happy as she would’ve thought he would be. Instead of radiating warmth and success, he seems somewhat glum about the fact that his work is done, unhappy about the fact that he’s completed another novel.

“Jug, that’s great!” She chirps, watching his reaction carefully before adding, “I know how hard you’ve been working and you really deserve this!”

For some reason, she thinks he looks uneasy about the situation, unsettled by the compliments she’s offering him (they’ve gotten past the whole _mutual distaste_ these past few months, though she knows he’s never been good at receiving praise) – he stiffens slightly at her words and tries to hide the grimace that bleeds quickly into his features, his lips quirking slightly before he forces them back into a smile.

“Thanks Veronica,” is his mumbled reply, his head hung low as if he’s a little embarrassed, before making his way toward the kitchen (she decides to give him a minute to himself, to let everything sink in as she plays with Juliette and dries off).

A part of her, a small part, wants to find the pages he's written, wants to know what has him so upset and fix it - instead, she tells herself that he will come to her when things get _particularly bad_ and that there's nothing she can do if she breaks his trust. All of the schemes that flood her mind are quickly denied, all of her malicious ideas - rejected. 

The voice in her mind, the one that sounds too much like Betty, mumbles something about growing up, about maturing enough to trust someone: the voice that sounds like Archie, happy and easy-going, laughs softly and mumbles something about it _always_ being Jughead.

Instead of instantly denying it, instead of trying to think of any sort of arguments, she finds herself smiling and kissing Juliette's cheek, loving the moment that she's having and knowing that things are going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, I know, this chapter didn't necessarily _go_ anywhere, but I wanted to establish the changing dynamic between Jughead and Veronica. If you found it particularly unsatisfactory, let me offer you a little preview of what you can expect to see in the final chapter - Jughead's novel (and, more importantly, Veronica finally getting to read it), a little more about the whole Katie situation, and of course, Vughead (because, come on - I'm such a fan).

**Author's Note:**

> a couple of notes:  
> ~I haven't actually gotten caught up on Riverdale: honestly, I've only seen a handful of episodes, including all of season one, approximately half of season two, the episode that was a flash-back, and a couple of the musical episodes. Watching the other episodes is something on my summer "to-do" list, I promise.  
> ~I know Jughead and Veronica are an unlikely pairing, likely never going to happen, but I guess I just thought this could be an interesting concept.  
> ~I am a terrible update-r, so please just have a little patience. Also, I do not have a beta (or know what a beta is), so I will own up to any and all grammatical errors.  
> ~I am a huge fan of run-on sentences, they're kind of my bread-and-butter. I'm sorry, but I'm also kind of not.


End file.
